Don't Take This Sinner
by hexmionegranger
Summary: Hermione Granger couldn't help but think that no matter how difficult they had all figured rebuilding their society would be, no one was expecting anything quite like this. Her entire life in the magical world had been full of shocks and stumbles, and this one seemed like the biggest of them all. A post-war Dramione marriage law fic... with a twist!
1. A New Law

No one thought it would be easy: adapting to life after the war, rebuilding wizarding society, learning to live with what they had done. The Ministry was in shambles; rogue Death Eaters were still causing trouble across the country and beyond; and the weight of actions carried out in the name of war was a heavy burden on the shoulders of those who had survived. But, they'd all been trying.

It had been nearly two years since the end of the war, and collectively the wizarding world had been putting their lives back together, picking up the pieces and fitting them into the holes that had been left as well as they could. Hermione had gone back to school, finishing out her N.E. with perfect scores and taking up a job in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. Harry and Ron had entered the fast-track Auror program and were nearly through their probationary periods, ready to begin their careers in earnest. Ginny had also finished school and then accepted a Chaser position on the reserves of the Holyhead Harpies - and even then she played more games than she sat out.

And yet…

Now another threat was upon them, another problem, shattering apart everything that they were trying so desperately to build and hold on to.

Looking around the large dining table at the remaining members of the Order, faces stoic and eyes sad, Hermione couldn't help but think that no matter how difficult they had all figured it would be, no one was expecting anything quite like _this_. Unfortunately, based on the fact that she could feel the splintered wood digging into her fingers from clutching the table so intently, it seemed like she really had heard correctly. That, and the fact that she never could have dreamed up anything this horrible. It was another stark reminder that just when things were finally starting to level out, they would never truly have peace and stability. Her entire life in the magical world had been full of shocks and stumbles, and this one seemed like the biggest of them all.

Molly Weasley broke the silence.

"Kingsley - I do believe I've misunderstood you. I seem to have heard that you expect our _children_ to get _married_ with absolutely no choice as to who their future spouse will be, and that _if they fail to comply, they could face imprisonment_?!" Her voice, which had started off careful and modulated, rose in pitch and intensity until she was standing at the table, hands on her hips, glaring down at the much taller man seated across from her.

Kingsley cleared his throat uncomfortably. He shifted slightly in the seat and then pulled back his shoulders, seeming to regain some of the confidence he had forgotten in the presence of the Weasley matriarch. "As I said before, Molly, this was not my choice. But many people are unhappy. It's been nearly two years now and our population has not increased in the slightest. In fact, we are now declining at a rate that means the entirety of magical blood could be wiped out in only a few generations. The Ministry has spent quite a long time now trying to figure out the best solution. Finding _compatible matches_ for any young eligible wizards and witches will ensure that we continue on our strongest gene lines and on top of that we will be matching based on many different factors." It sounded like he was reciting a script. "Hopefully, due to our rigorous process, almost all of the candidates will be, uh, pleased with their spouses. This way, we will be guaranteed strong magical children and thus a strong future for our entire community." He exhaled sharply and crossed his arms, facing down the distraught members of the Order, daring any of them to question him

Hermione, who had been processing this information and its implications, decided that she could no longer keep quiet about her feelings. "Kingsley! This is government mandated _rape_." She snapped, raising a finger in the direction of the older wizard, who leant back slightly in his chair. "No matter what steps you take to pair us up… it's not right! What if we never agree to consent to sleep with our spouses? Will we be thrown in jail or will you Imperius us - since you're only really a step away from that anyways!"

Kingsley coughed uncomfortably. "Ms. Granger. Hermione. Arranged marriages have been part of magical culture for decades, and muggle ones as well. Do you disagree that at least some of these couples end up happy and in love with their partners? Absolutely no one will be forced to have sex... that would be... I could never condone that. I would resign before we got to that." Despite trying to sound cheerful, Kingsley mostly sounded defeated. He was a parrot here, nothing more. "The only contractual obligation you will have is the marriage and, of course, producing at least two children - though, couples who have more than two will be rewarded monetarily as per the terms of the contract. The Ministry will give everyone ample time to get comfortable with their spouses and the arrangement before they are required to produce evidence of pregnancy, two years from the date of the wedding, which must be completed within three months of the bill passing. You are a smart witch, Hermione - you know that theoretically no sex is required in order to conceive a child with another person. In fact, St. Mungo's has been studying muggle reproductive technology for the past year or so hoping we could find a different answer to the problem, and so they have quite a few different methods to choose from."

Hermione was still fuming, but held her tongue. It was absolutely unfair, an abuse of power. It was not right and not alright and she wanted to _scream_ about the injustice. But Kingsley had clearly given in here - she thought belatedly that he probably would be forced to marry with this law as well - and so what was the point in her shouting at him more? She snapped her eyes up to Harry, begging him to do something, to say something, to fix this. He peered back at her, calculating.

"What about those of us who are already in relationships, Kingsley?" Harry asked, and Hermione felt her heart soar. Yes! Brilliant Harry! She and Ron had just been waiting for the right moment to get settled into a relationship. First she had been at school, and then he had been so busy with Auror training. But they could start now, and fall in love quickly, and get married and she would have everything she wanted - mostly. She hadn't wanted kids this quickly, but that was a small compromise she might have to make.

"Very good question, Harry." Kingsley smiled gently at the man before continuing. "Because of the process of matching, the Ministry is convinced that everyone will end up with a partner who is compatible to themselves in a way that should be agreeable to everyone. Presumably, if you are compatible with your current partner, they will likely be the person chosen for you. This has been taken into the equation of compatibility. But of course, nothing is guaranteed." His answers, Hermione thought, sounded rehearsed. Written out in government lingo and dished up in Kingsley's large smooth voice. The politics of it all were starting to make her dizzy.

"Well then." Kingsley stood, brushing off his robes and pulling a wand out from his sleeve. "If all of the unmarried individuals will reach out their hands-" Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, but Kingsley shot her a stern look and collectively the table conceded, "I'll just take a small sample of DNA and be off." Kingsley swished his wand across their outstretched palms and the group let out a collective wince as he scored open their skin, siphoned out a few drops of blood, and stitched them back up. "Thank you all for your understanding." And with that, Kingsley was gone.

"The last time someone took my blood, Voldemort was brought back to life," Harry quipped, clearly trying to keep the mood up around them. Molly shot him a look and he winced, smile falling. "Just saying."

The table was silent for a moment, Hermione staring incredulously at Harry and Ron, Molly now weeping into Arthur's shoulder, George resting his head on his hands on the desk, and Ginny staring down at her empty ring finger. "It just isn't fair, it isn't right!" Wailed Molly, and though Hermione often thought the older witch had a tendency for dramatics, she couldn't help but agree in this moment that she felt exactly the same way.

* * *

Later that night, the four of them sat crowded around in a circle on the floor of Ginny's bedroom. Hermione had pushed her camp cot off to the side and they had settled down in a pile of blankets and pillows to discuss the afternoon's events.

"It's just not right!" Hermione repeated again, and Ron sighed, reaching a hand to awkwardly pat her knee. "I just, I don't see how they can do this. After everything we've been through, don't we all deserve some peace?"

Harry and Ginny were curled up together, fingers tightly intertwined. "I'm sorry, Gin." Harry mumbled into her mass of red half-braided hair. "If I'd proposed a year ago, neither of us would be in this position…"

Ginny was silent for a moment before she shook her head against his chest. "I think we're pretty compatible. I'm just... I'm just not going to be worried about it. And if we don't get each other well then… we'll just elope to America."

Ron snorted softly. "Mum would never let you."

"Well, _Ron_ , I'm an adult and Mum can't tell me what to do anymore-"

"Can you two just be quiet for a minute?" Hermione sighed, putting her head in her hands. "I'm trying to _think_ here. Not everyone is as lucky as you and Harry, Gin!" Mercifully, Ron and Ginny stopped their bickering, but try as she might the solutions Hermione was coming up with were all less than ideal. She wasn't running off to hide in the muggle world. She needed magic, needed her friends. It would be worse than a death sentence, especially with her parents still lost in Australia. She didn't think eloping to America would solve the problem either, seeing as how she loved her job and was pretty sure the ministry would find them in an instant. "I don't know, I don't know how..." Finally, it happened, a soft sob bubbled up from her chest and she couldn't help but let it out. "I don't know how to fix it."

Ron leaned over and wrapped his arms around her, tall and lanky and smelling like cinnamon. He rocked her slowly as she cried for the life she had never realized was in jeopardy, for her friends who may have to give up everything, for her freedom and the fact that she didn't want to be _given_ to someone like a piece of property. "Mione," he mumbled into her hair, pausing and inhaling before letting his feelings out in a single anxious breath, "I have been in love with you probably since we were eleven years old, even if I didn't want to admit it. I'm sorry we haven't gotten to this yet, haven't made time. But look, compatibility? We've got that, right? How else could we have put up with each other?" He waited until she nodded against him and kissed the top of her head. "You'll see. We'll get married and have little curly redheaded babies in no time."

It was supposed to be a comforting thought.

Hermione wasn't sure why she suddenly felt even worse than she had before.

* * *

Hermione barely slept. Ginny was tossing and turning and throughout the Burrow she could hear people getting up and stomping around. Staying over here always made her feel like she was a child again, getting ready to head back to Hogwarts and spend another year actively trying not to be murdered by a psychopath. In fact, the only reason she was staying there was because Kingsley had said the results would be around in the morning. Apparently the highest ranking Ministry officials had spent the night rushing between houses, collecting DNA and processing it. It was supposedly so people wouldn't have a chance to run away, or to get married shotgun style to someone who would not technically be "compatible".

It was atrocious.

After a few restless hours, she finally spotted the sun on the horizon and decided enough was enough, there was no point lying there feeling sad. She slipped from the room, careful not to wake up Ginny who had only really fallen asleep an hour before, and padded down the stairs. Hermione couldn't stand being useless; luckily in this house it was an easy thing to avoid.

Molly was rushing around the kitchen, murmuring to herself. Hermione was catching things like "what on earth" and "they're still children!", "if Dumbledore were still alive - rest his soul" and "if my kids aren't happy", so she yawned loudly as she entered the kitchen to alert the older woman to her presence.

"Oh! Hermione, dear. Good morning. You're up early." Hermione nodded, shrugging and moving further into the kitchen.

"Couldn't really sleep, honestly. Is… is there anything I can do?"

Molly smiled sadly and handed her a bowl filled with half-made pancake batter. "This just needs two eggs and a slosh of milk. Handful of chocolate chips - above the ice box. If you could mix it up for me, that'd be lovely."

Hermione took the bowl and got to work, digging for ingredients and adding them to the large wooden bowl. She dug a whisk out of a drawer and got to work. Magic probably would have been easier and faster, but there was something so therapeutic and comforting about doing it by hand. It reminded her of lazy Saturday mornings with her mother and endless hours of baking.

"Hermione.." Molly was clearly trying to say something important, but not looking the younger woman in the face. "Arthur and I… well, we always hoped that you'd marry Ron, legally become part of our family. These past few years we figured the two of you were just, well, taking your time. We can't fault you on that. Anyways, dear… While I truly hope you two will be matched up, I'm not so naive to think we should believe in fairy tales." The woman sighed and put down the bowl she was holding, turning resolutely to Hermione and moving closer to the girl. "But, no matter what happens, no matter who this horrid law makes you marry, I want you to know - we _all_ want you to know - that you are a part of this family. No matter what, do you understand me? I would love for it to be legal, we all would, but, well. You're losing enough today. You won't lose us too."

Hermione couldn't help it. She put down the bowl and covered her face with her hands and cried, really truly cried, for the second time in twelve hours. She hadn't been this weepy since after the war when she kept thinking about everyone who they had lost. Molly tsk'd and stepped closer again, wrapping her arms around the taller girl and rubbing her back consolingly until Hermione had finally stopped shaking with tears.

"Alright. Now, let's get this breakfast all ready for the troops, shall we dear? Nothing else to do now, much as well keep busy."

* * *

It all happened too fast. Hermione and Molly had finished cooking, spread the food out, helped dish it up, eaten with the rest, and then set it all to clean. Before she even really had a chance to process, Hermione was sitting at the dining room table, and the lot of them were watching the window with a mixture of trepidation and anxiety. All she really wanted to do was get her name and retreat back to her tiny flat and _sleep_ until all of this was over. The sooner they got the letters the sooner she could presumably make that happen.

Ginny was the first to spot the bird - she gulped but stood anyways, facing the terror and heading for the window, propping it open to let the majestic Ministry owl in. The creature flew to the table and waited as Arthur, with shaking hands, untied the large stack of letters, before swooping off back the way it had came. Ginny shut the window and returned to the table just as Arthur was finished handing out the letters, and took hers with a deep breath.

"How should we, uh?" Harry asked, looking around. George had apparated in halfway through breakfast and now joined them at the table, looking dejected and apprehensive about restarting his nonexistent social life. Harry had a hand consolingly on Ginny's knee, and Ron was sitting close to Hermione, though not touching her.

"We'll go around. One by one, George and then Ron, then me, then Harry and Ginny. Say the name, whoever it is." She looked around amongst those gathered and they nodded their assent. It wasn't like there was a better option. Besides, if all had gone well, Ron's paper would answer her's and Harry's would answer Ginny's. She was forcing her hope down as deep as it could go.

"Right then." George cleared his throat. "Here goes nothing." Sliding a thumb under the seal, he popped the letter open and then unfolded the parchment inside tantalizingly slowly. He frowned as he read the name, reading it again before looking back up with half a shrug. "Win Urquhart? What kind of a name is Win?" He peered around the table to see if any of his siblings knew who the girl was. Hermione was frowning and tapping a finger on her lips.

"Ravenclaw. I think a year or two above us. She was a prefect, if I'm thinking of the right Win."

George sighed a little. "Great. A Ravenclaw prefect. Well, there goes any chance I had of having fun again." Arthur cleared his throat and George dropped his shoulders and managed to flash a small smirk. "Just trying to lighten up the room! Tough crowd." Despite his best efforts, his voice sounded strained.

"Ron?" Hermione prodded.

The redhead cleared his throat and nodded, and repeated George's motions, popping the seal on his letter. He was faster in pulling the parchment out and Hermione inhaled deeply as he did so, waiting for the joy and elation she was anticipating that she'd be feeling about her upcoming engagement. The circumstances weren't ideal, but she could still make the most of it. Ron wouldn't try to hold her down, or to own her. He could be supportive, and she could still be free, mostly.

Ron frowned.

He peered down at his paper again before balling it up and throwing it across the room where it bounced off the wall.

Hermione felt something snap somewhere inside of her.

"Ron!" Molly admonished, shooting a look at her son. "Who was it?"

Ron smacked his fist down onto the table, ready to shout, but a look from his father had him flushing red in shame at the outburst. Finally he sighed, defeated, looking down at the worn wood under his hands. "Hannah Abbot. It's not… I mean, she's nice? But I just…" He trailed off, feeling lost, and forced his eyes to remain on the table. Hermione could see them glistening at the edges and she didn't want to push him. They'd deal with this later. They had more to do.

She had to pull the band-aid off and figure out who she was spending the rest of her life with.

Swallowing thickly and forcing herself not to cry, Hermione opened her letter as well and slid the paper out, hands trembling, entire body wound up tight. She forced herself to take a deep breath and reminded herself that she had survived, no, she had _won_ a war. The vision of curly redheaded babies was gone already, shattered like a fragile window. What more damage could a name do? She could handle a husband. Probably.

The name on the paper was not what she expected, and she choked out a sob before she could help it, slapping her hand up to her mouth.

"Hermione?!" Molly gasped, reaching across the table. Hermione yanked the paper back, clutching it to her chest, and shook her head, tears already pouring from her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry..." She managed to whisper, feeling shock course through her system. Her veins were on fire and her throat was closing. What had she done? What had she done? She just ruined two of her best friends lives. With one piece of paper, three words in thick black ink, she had ruined the best chance at happiness and family that her best friend had.

Forcing herself to brave, to be strong even though it was the last thing she felt, she lifted her eyes across the table, and met a pair of green ones behind black framed glasses. Fight or flight. She chose fight - she was a Gryffindor, after all. "I'm so sorry," she said again, hoping she wouldn't have to say the words.

"Hermione? What's wrong? Who is it?" Harry pushed, and just as she opened her mouth to say it, the weight of the situation crashed down on Ginny and the redhead woman let out a cry, and then began to openly sob.

Hermione dropped her paper on the table and pushed it over to where Harry and Molly and Ginny could all see it.

 _Harry James Potter_.

Already it felt like the world was closing in, like she couldn't breathe, couldn't get air. Her heart was thudding in her chest and her entire body itched, begging her to run. Panic was rising in her system and she fought it down with everything she had. It could be worse, she tried to tell herself. She knew she could live happily with Harry. She trusted him with her life, and he with hers. They had been friends for nearly ten years now and he was part of her life, for good. No, she didn't love him like a husband, she didn't desire him - the mere thought made her anxious all over again. Relationships had been built on less.

But he had also never had a real family; an orphan with no loving relatives. He deserved a wife who he loved, really and truly, and who loved him back. He deserved Ginny.

Harry was staring at her still over the table, one arm holding his sobbing girlfriend to his chest and rocking her back and forth. Finally, he seemed to make a decision and nodded once at Hermione. "This is not your fault." He managed to say loudly enough that she heard him. "If not you, it could have been anyone. I'll be honoured to be your," here, he stumbled over the word, "your husband." His voice had cracked and he too looked like he was going to cry at any minute, but between a sobbing Ginny, a desolate and slightly panicking Hermione, and a Ron growing angrier by the minute, someone needed to keep their cool. Harry had always been good at that.

"Ginny." Molly said, gentle but firm after a few minutes. "Ginny you have to open your letter." She placed a hand on her daughter's back, rubbing softly. Ginny shook her head and burrowed further into Harry's chest. "You need to know." Molly tried again, tucking long red strands of hair away from Ginny's face. Still nothing. "Shall I open it for you?" She asked, and this time Ginny nodded, unwilling to look up. Her body still shook with sobs but she had quieted down, though she was still letting out small whimpering gasping breaths. Her life as she knew it had ended in that moment - how much worse could the answer to this be?

Molly looked at Arthur, who nodded once to reassure her, and she opened the letter, sliding out the parchment. She read the first few lines, descriptions of the law, what needed to happen, what this magical binding contract meant, and then her eyes landed on the name and her face went white as a sheet. Molly's mouth opened, and then closed, and she lifted a hand to her heart, shaking her head. "It can't. It must be a mistake. It must…" Unable to help herself, the Weasley matriarch stood, clutching the letter tighter in her hands, crinkling the thick parchment. "I'll write to Kingsley this instant. This, it's not possible!"

"Mum." Ginny's voice was quiet, broken and sad, but unflinching. "Mum, tell me who it is."

Molly hesitated for a long moment before sitting back down in defeat.

"Draco Malfoy."

All hell broke lose.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi all! Thanks for checking out the first chapter of my fic. I'm currently posting this fic on ao3, but I decided I was going to suffer through the document manager here (which I am NOT a fan of) to post this story on ffnet as well. It'll probably be more current and up to date on ao3 always, but my plan is to catch up on here and then continue posting on my regular schedule, which is Tuesdays  & Fridays.

A few quick notes: this is DEFINITELY a Dramione fanfic, no worries! There is _no_ romantic Harmony, and _no_ romantic Drinny, so turn back now if you're interested in that. It features some heavy stuff, including PTSD related panic attacks, alcoholism, infidelity, and a slow burn romance. ;) Also, due to ffnets content guidelines, this will be a SLIGHTLY EDITED version of this fic, missing the good stuff - so to speak. My username on ao3 (and on tumblr!) is the same as it is here, so you can find me there if you want to read the explicit scenes. They don't come till later, and I'll mention at the end of them which ones have been edited so you're all aware. If you like my writing, ao3  & tumblr are the places to find more of it - though I'm going to slowly try and get some more on here as well.

This fic is almost all written as well, clocking in around 80k and 25 chapters. I'd say it's nearly 95% done, though I'm still working on the editing process. I'm not going to change any huge major things though.

Huge shoutout to my betas nymphadoraholtzmann & theskiddlyboop for being beautiful & brilliant & fixing my mistakes & helping me iron out my plot.


	2. Fallout

Ron's anger level seemed to shoot through the ceiling. Hermione had to physically grab his arm to stop him from storming out the door on some mad quest to find _someone_ to pay for this injustice. Harry too had stopped his pain in its tracks and was now holding onto Ginny, arms wrapped around the girl in a way that came off as fiercely protective. Molly was pacing back and forth, crumpling the letter into a smaller and smaller ball, clearing trying to figure out what to do to stop this. Even Hermione was starting to feel like the nervous energy that had been steadily building up inside of her was going to explode at any minute if she didn't do something big to stop it.

Arthur was the only one of them that hadn't moved. He was still sitting at the table, staring down at the wood, hands clasped in front of him. No one had noticed.

"He killed Dumbledore!" Ron was now screaming, and Hermione had thrown all of her energy into trying to calm him down. It wasn't helping anyone.

"No, Ron. That was Severus Snape, remember? A man who just happened to not be evil at all?"

"This is _different_ , Hermione!"

"You don't know that! Remember how terrified he looked, at the manor?"

"When you were being TORTURED!" Ron was red faced, with a vein throbbing on his neck. Hermione could see that his knuckles had gone white from the way he was gripping the chair that he was now standing behind, clinging to as if it were the only thing holding him up. He looked terrifying and terrified.

"Ron. RON! This is not helping, you screaming like this!"

"Why are you defending him, 'Mione? You out of everyone should know he isn't worth defending!"

Hermione was not calming down at all, she realized. Ron bringing up Malfoy Manor had brought the pain in her arm soaring back to life, and her muscles seemed to be tightening, waiting for the next Cruciatus. He didn't realize, she tried to tell herself, as she took deep breaths and tried to drown out the chaos of the house and dug her fingernails into her palms. He didn't realize what he was doing to her because they had barely spent enough time together since the war for him to notice that she hadn't gotten over it quite as well as she kept telling them all that she had.

Harry was the one who noticed, in the end, that she was standing in the middle of the room with her eyes shut, breathing in small short gasps, tears leaking out of her eyes. Harry was not always the most perceptive person, but when he did eventually notice things he always did whatever he could to fix them.

"That's enough." He didn't shout or raise his voice above Ron's anger or Molly's mutterings. He just spoke clearly, calmly, full of authority. Harry was a natural leader. There were reasons why so many had followed him in the first war, and surviving a curse from an evil dictator wasn't the only one. Even Ginny seemed to react, finally taking a deep breath and lifting a hand to wipe the snot and tears from her face. Harry looked around now that their eyes were all on him, sans Hermione's, and nodded once before he spoke. "Right. Clearly this is something that needs to be addressed. Arthur, if it's alright with you maybe the two of us can go to the Ministry and explain this situation to Kingsley and see what can be done?" Arthur nodded in assent, still silent, and left the table, presumably to go get dressed. "Ron, mate, George left about twenty minutes ago when this all happened and I'm honestly a little worried that he's going to do something stupid and get himself killed. Can you…?" Ron also nodded and followed his father out of the room.

With the chaos now mostly gone, Hermione was able to take a real deep breath and open her eyes, staring over at her friend. She didn't quite feel like she could speak yet, and the room was still spinning precariously around her, but it was a step. Harry was able to smile slightly at her before he continued.

"Gin, what can we do to help?"

The redhead thought this over for a moment, pulling back from Harry and continuing to rub her hands over her blotchy damp face. "I'm going to get my broom. I need to smash some bludgers around, I think." Harry smiled easily at his girlfriend.

"Brilliant plan, Gin. Hermione, I assume you don't want to go with Ginny?"

Hermione felt like she could have laughed at that, and the realization that she had real emotions again after the shocking terror of a few minutes earlier was a welcome feeling. "No, absolutely not. But, why don't I go to the Ministry with Arthur, and you can stay here and fly together? I'm good at the bureaucracy stuff, and flying would do you good as well."

Harry hesitated over this for a minute, because Hermione still looked quite shaken up, but he relented when she placed her hands on her hips and stood her ground. Eventually, Harry stood and walked around the table to wrap her in a tight hug, and she forced herself not to break all over again at the thought of what was to come. "We'll talk about all of this tonight, okay Hermione?" She nodded and then watched him leave before making her way around the table to Ginny, wrapping her arms around the seated girl in much the same way that Harry had just hugged her.

"You have nothing to worry about, Gin. He's yours, always, and I'll do whatever I need to do to make sure you two can still be happy."

Ginny nodded in her arms and sniffled, but did not cry. "Thanks, Hermione. I know you two would never, that you don't… but, I just…" Hermione nodded in understanding and kissed the top of her friend's head affectionately.

"Go get your gear on. The fresh air will do you a world of good."

* * *

Unfortunately, as she had predicted, going to the Ministry had not accomplished anything. Hermione and Arthur spent most of the day being bounced from office to office, told they could speak to one person who would then direct them somewhere else. Eventually, Hermione asked where she could go to make a complaint and then were sent into a whole other process and group of people. Finally, she had gotten so angry and frustrated that she snapped.

"Do you know who I am?" It was a sentence that she hated more than almost any other, using the war that she had been a pawn in to get something she wanted. The clerk, luckily, did not realize the distaste dripping around her words and cowered a bit under the woman now standing in front of her desk, hair a large cloud around her face and hands clenched into fists.

"Y-yes, ma'am. Hermione Granger, you, uh, you defeated V-v-"

"Don't hurt yourself." She said, voice clipped and tone flippant. "I want to speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Immediately."

The clerk had disappeared from the office, scurrying off down a hallway and leaving Hermione to drop back into the chair behind her, deflated.

"That was very good, Hermione." Arthur commended with a smile at the girl beside him. "You really are quite a force to be reckoned with."

Kingsley appeared in the small office only a few minutes later, unaccompanied by the clerk who the office belonged to. "Ah. Hermione, Arthur. It's a pleasure to see you both again so soon, though I doubt it's for a positive reason."

"Look, I'm just going to get straight to it, Kingsley. I am not happy about this law that has been pushed. Frankly, I think it directly contravenes our rights to freedom in this society. I have been told that it is a law that has been enacted before and that it was passed through the appropriate channels and that 'it is simply the way things are done here in _Wizarding Society_ '. I am not pleased, Kingsley." She paused, gathering her thoughts.

"Is there more?" It was only then that Hermione realized Kingsley looked just as exhausted as he felt, if not more so. Part of her, the vindictive part, cheered. Good. He should look exhausted. He had ruined her life. The more rational part of her recognized that Kingsley had probably done everything in his power to avoid all of this nonsense, and that he was probably just as unhappy about it as the rest of them. It only helped a little bit.

"Harry Potter gave up his entire childhood to save this ludicrous wizarding world. He faced Voldemort as a baby, and then again as an eleven year old, a twelve year old, at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen - and then _defeated the darkest wizard in modern history at seventeen years old_. He spent his younger years living with abusive muggles who he could have been saved from, but instead he was used as a pawn in Dumbledore and the Order's games, kept in the dark, and then built up into a warrior out of necessity because none of you would _listen to him_." She was angry, now. She knew parts of this were stretched truths. Harry had a 'saving people' thing, and even if they had tried to stop him (which, she recognized, the Order sometimes had) he did not and would not listen.

"The point that I'm getting at, Kingsley, is that this man, more than anyone else, deserves a happy future. He deserves to marry the woman he has loved since he was a teenager, who has loved him back longer still. He deserves to make beautiful messy-haired babies and be Arthur's son-in-law and not have to worry about the Ministry ruining his life in any other way for the rest of it! And don't get me started on the implications of suggesting that Ginny Weasley should marry someone whose father actively set her up to be _possessed by Voldemort and then killed_."

Kingsley sighed, dropping his face into his hands and scrubbing at his skin. "I agree, Hermione." His voice was quiet, and he pulled out his wand then, flicking it around the room to create a private space for them to have this discussion without eavesdroppers. "Trust me. I fought so hard for this not to be passed. I fought hard for there to be the ability for people to choose their own partners. I fought even harder to keep Harry out of it, and I was very, very displeased with how some of the matches turned out - my own included."

Hermione raised a brow at him, urging him to continue to explain _why_ he then could not change anything.

"The Wizengamot is terrified, Hermione. We have had a higher proportion of squibs, and one of the lowest general percentages of births, in the past two years than ever previously recorded. Our population is in serious decline. We lost a great many brilliant wizards in the war. Many people married quickly during or after, but because of this their genetics may not have been as properly matched as if they had waited to find someone they truly loved. You see, no one is really even entirely sure how or why the magical gene gets passed along. But there are markers for compatibility, things we have found increase the chances, sometimes dramatically, that a child will have magical abilities. And unfortunately, the best compromise I could negotiate was that we not actively force members of our population to reproduce sexually with one another. The last time a law like this was enacted, in the 1700s, the couples were expected to copulate weekly until they were pregnant, and if this did not occur within six months then a Ministry official was sent to _watch_ to make sure it was happening."

Hermione gasped, horrified. Arthur frowned, his chin in his hand as he listened to Kingsley.

"So, I know it still seems horrendous, Hermione, but can you see what I've managed to accomplish? I was able to push the deadline for pregnancy to two years. They compromised and it is written into the law explicitly that the child does not have to be born of intercourse, so couples may seek alternate methods. Beyond that, the compatibility screening was very comprehensive. If you take away what the world has placed onto you - the prejudices we learned as children, the morals we developed - and leave behind who we truly are, each of the partnerships _should_ be able to produce happy couples. People who have a chance at true love, if nothing else stood in the way. But... I recognize that there _are_ things that stand in the way, unfortunately, that some prejudices cannot be overcome.

"Listen, I know this isn't an ideal suggestion... But the Ministry will not repeal this law until we have some proof that it is working, until the proportion of babies born with strong magical potential increases. But, after that happens, there will be leeway. Leeway to call for the law to be overturned. Which means, it may be easier to come back in a year, year and a half, and convince the Wizengamot otherwise. You understand that I am not telling you this, that I am not and will never be able to publicly condone this without losing my position. And believe me, Hermione, the people who want my position would make this much, much worse."

Hermione had to concede at that point. Kingsley was right: whoever was next to take his role, or who would ensure they were next, could be one of those people who had sneered down at her while offhandedly suggesting she had no real understanding of wizarding culture. They could be one of those people who would be complicit in rape, who would encourage it for the sake of the population. Kingsley was a better choice. Kingsley was on their side.

"What about Ginny?" Arthur spoke for the first time since they had arrived, showing his purpose for coming along. His daughter was first. His sons could handle themselves, neither of them had been terrified of their matches, neither of them had really been in love. They could survive for a year or two. It may be good for them, even. But, Ginny… Ginny was another story.

Kingsley sighed again, leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers against his knee. "Arthur, I assure you that we investigated every person involved fully. Mr. Malfoy was found not guilty of any crimes. Harry himself is the reason why this is the case, he testified at his trial. Draco Malfoy was used as a weapon, a child soldier in a battle he could not escape from. He has paid back a great amount of money in reparations and is currently doing contract work for the Ministry to further repay those debts. I have no reason to believe he will harm Ginny in any way. Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban, he is rotting in prison where he belongs. His wife and son have done their best to repent for their crimes."

Arthur did not seem entirely satisfied. "What if this man hurts my daughter, Kingsley? Will that be on your hands?"

Kingsley stood, then, and Hermione and Arthur followed suit. "Arthur, if Ginny truly believes her life is in danger, if she is fearful to be around the man and cannot carry out the marriage, we will figure something out. I will not let her be forced into a marriage she is worried could cost her life. Is that a fair bargain?"

Nothing would ever be a fair bargain, Hermione thought bitterly, and nodded once to Kingsley. "It will all have to do for now. Unfortunately, you're not done with me yet, Kingsley." Kingsley had the good nature to laugh at this, and walked them out of the office. The three were quiet on their walk to the elevator, and eventually Hermione and Arthur were alone, on their way back to the apparition point and a silent trip home.

* * *

The Burrow was quiet when they returned, most of its inhabitants having been out for almost all of the day. Arthur nodded to Hermione and disappeared into the kitchen to find Molly, while Hermione headed towards the dining room instead. There were two plates out still, with warming charms over them, and she sat down to eat for the first time that day since breakfast. She hadn't realized how famished she was or how glad she was to be somewhere quiet. It was somewhat suspect, a quiet Burrow, but she didn't have the heart or energy to wonder about that in that particular moment.

Halfway through her meal, she felt eyes on her and turned towards the door where Ron was leaning against the doorframe, watching her.

"Hi." Even her voice sounded exhausted, but she did not have the drive to perk up even with seeing Ron. The redhead managed a small smile in her direction and then headed into the room, sitting down next to her on the bench.

"We should probably…" Ron trailed off as he spoke. He had never been that comfortable talking about his feelings, and this was really no exception. Hermione nodded though in assent, pushing away her plate - stomach too nervous to eat more. She turned on the bench, straddling it to better face Ron, and he did the same in her direction. It was a long moment staring at each other before they each tried to speak.

"I should have done better-" Ron began, just as Hermione blurted out, "Why did this happen?"

Once more they fell silent, and finally Ron nodded for Hermione to speak first.

"We should have… We should have made time for this, Ron." She admitted, sadly. "I know we were both so busy... I was so focused on school, and on work. And you were so focused on your Auror training. And we just, never…" She waved a hand between them, for once feeling utterly without words. Ron's shoulders were sagged forward and he sighed heavily.

"I should have done better, Hermione. We could be married by now, and avoid this whole mess!"

Hermione nodded, feeling the tears leak from her eyes as she thought about her hopes and dreams for the two of them. For fights over toast, for Ron's mess, for waiting anxiously for him to get back from a mission, for redheaded babies, and sleepy weekends. But also the stress, of someone chaining her down. Of someone holding her back, and pushing for things she didn't want yet.

Ron lifted a hand and brushed the tears away with her thumb, catching her chin in between his fingers. "Hey," he said softly, tilting her head to look into her eyes. "This doesn't have to be the end, does it? Maybe we can still- we can work around it?" He looked so hopeful that it killed her to shake her head in his grip.

"I don't think so, Ron. The Ministry, they're going to be pretty strict, I think. And… I don't think it's fair. Whatever they've used to determine compatability didn't pair us up, Ron. And that has to mean something, doesn't it? It… I just. I think you and Hannah deserve a chance, to see why…" Hermione was crying again, for real now, tears running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. _If you love him, let him go_. She needed to do this now, now while it was easier, now before they even had a chance for it to be worse. "I think you need to try, with Hannah."

"I don't want bloody Hannah Abbott!" Ron snapped, though his voice was still low and he still held her chin. "Don't you get it, you daft woman? It's always been you for me! This is what I've wanted since... since we were kids together. You're brilliant and you're beautiful and-"

"Then why didn't we figure it out before now, Ron?" Hermione said, finally meeting his eyes through her tear-filled ones. "Why haven't we 'gotten around to it' if we were both so desperate? We've pushed us back, we haven't once thought, 'shouldn't this be important enough to prioritize'? And that's on both of us, really. But," she sighed, hating herself for saying it even as the words tumbled out of her mouth. "It's not that I believe in whatever the Ministry has used as this measure, it's not that I'm saying any of this is right. But, if we were meant to be, really meant to be, why has everything led to this?"

Ron shook his head, tears now running down his face as well, and pulled Hermione close, pressing his lips against hers. They stayed like that for a long moment, his wet cheeks brushing hers, lips pressed against her own. Slowly, they pulled back, and he watched for her reaction. Hoping it was enough. Hermione was having different feelings about the kiss. She had expected that same spark she felt the first time they kissed, that awful night. She was expecting warmth and hope and her heart to fill and remind her to fight for this, fight for them. Instead, the gears were clicking into place. It wasn't there anymore. It might not have been there for a long time, and they were still clinging to the past because it was all they thought they had.

"I love you, Ron, and I probably always will in one way or another."

"But?" He knew what was coming now, before she said it, and she let out an audible sob.

"But it's not, it's not meant for us anymore. Please just… Let's just move on, and you try and be happy with Hannah. Please give it an honest shot. She deserves that. And let me figure out the Ministry and try to fix all of this, and when it's all over, then we can try again, if we both still want to. Please?"

Ron sighed, swiping at his cheeks with the backs of his hands, and stood up from the bench. He was at the door before he turned back to look at her, hurt and anger and sadness flushing his cheeks red, and she could tell he was holding in as much of his emotions as he could. "Bye, Hermione."

And then, he was gone.

Hermione turned so that she could put her head on the table and let the sobs flow freely, shoulders heaving and tears soaking the wood under her head. Finally, she was able to once again take deep breaths, and she wiped at her tearstained cheeks with her sleeve. Deciding that she had had just about enough of being inside today, she picked herself up off the bench and headed for the backdoor of the Burrow, moving quietly to not have to run into anyone, and then she slipped out into the now-dark night.

Hermione glanced around the garden and dropped down onto the back porch deck, pulling her knees up against her chest and trying to figure out what she wanted and needed. Lists were always easy for her. She wanted to not get married at twenty. She didn't want to be tied down, to be owned, to be _given_. She wanted to fall in love with her partner, real true passionate love. She did not want children, not yet. She wanted her friends to be happy. She wanted to go home, to her tiny flat. She loved the Weasleys, but spending so much time with them was like being a terrified teenager again. She wanted to sleep until this was all over. She wanted to fix it, to storm into the Ministry again and demand that this be rectified. She wanted it to be easy.

She barely noticed when someone sat down beside her, and in fact it was only feeling someone's leg brush against hers that startled her out of her brain. Her wand had slipped down into her hand and was pointed at the person beside her before she realized what was happening, and Harry threw up his hands with a soft laugh.

"Sorry, just me. I should know better than to sneak up on you, after everything."

Hermione managed a small smile and half-hearted shrug as she slid her wand back down her sleeve. "I figured you'd be with Ginny."

Harry lifted a hand sheepishly to rub against the back of his neck, the flush on his cheeks visible even in the moonlit garden. "I was. But, Ron came up, said you were really upset. He was upset too. I figured, well, you may need someone to talk to."

Hermione blinked back the tears, leant over so her head rested on his shoulder, tried to calm her still shaky breathing. "You didn't have to do that."

Harry snorted in response, tugging at a curl hanging down by her face. "'Course I did, bookworm. You're my best friend. You're, I guess, going to be my wife-" Harry paused, smiling sheepishly. "I mean, I probably should have proposed or something, that would have been the right thing to do, wouldn't it?"

Hermione sniffled again, trying not to cry all over his shoulder. "You should be proposing to Ginny. Not me. This is so wrong, Harry. I love you, truly, but not ever like that. Even the thought of-"

Harry cut her off with a noise of protest that sounded half like a gag and half like a groan. "Don't even plant that image in my head. No way. You're my _sister_ , Hermione." He dropped a hand down to lace with hers, squeezing it tight. "I guess the Ministry didn't do anything at all."

"No. Kingsley said he tried to make it as easy for us as he could. That maybe in a few years once people start having more magical babies it'll be easier to overturn. That if Ginny really truly believes her life is in danger, we can try and report that and get her away from him. But even that didn't sound too hopeful."

Harry nodded against her head. "And your conversation with Ron?"

She tried not to groan. "I don't know, Harry. Don't you think it's, it's some sort of sign? You and I, of course we're compatible. Not sexually, but I do trust you with my life. We get along well. I think we could live together with no problems. They just didn't account for lust or desire. But platonically, we have that love. Isn't it… don't you think it's odd, then, that Ron and I weren't paired together? I'm not saying the Ministry has it right! Ginny and Malfoy, I mean," she shuddered and Harry made a noise to indicate his agreement, "but why wouldn't we be together? Why haven't either of us pushed for this in the past two years? You and Ginny figured it out - a relationship, school, two busy careers. We couldn't pull it together, Harry." The tears were rolling down her cheeks again. "I told Ron that he should let go. See what it'll be like, with Hannah. It broke my heart, Harry," she paused, chewing on her lower lip. "But not as much as I thought it would."

Harry pulled back now, to look down at her face, searching.

"We kissed. It didn't… It wasn't the same."

Harry sighed deeply and pulled her back into his arms. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, into her cloud of hair. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. Look. I just want you to know, I'll take care of you, okay? I'll look after you just like I always have. We're going to get through this together and we're going to fix this mess together, and maybe for once the Wizarding World will take the peace that we gave it and not bloody ruin it."

Hermione snorted a laugh into his chest, pulling back and wiping at her face. "Okay?" Harry checked in, looking down at her, snotty and tear streaked. "Nothing's going to change with us, okay?"

Cracking a smile, she nodded at her best friend, the boy who lived, the Chosen One, her future husband, and squeezed his hand. "Okay, Harry. We'll find a way. You'll be married to Ginny before you know it." And they sat in silence, fingers intertwined, contemplating the future that was rapidly stretching out ahead of them.


	3. Meetings

George had disappeared after the initial news of the marriage announcements. It had all been so overwhelming that he hadn't been able to contemplate how to fix this, how to help his baby sister. He had gone back to his small apartment above the shop and tried to figure out what Fred would have done, if he was here. Then he had gone down to the local pub ,drank far too much, apparated to the approximate location of Malfoy Manor, and stood staring up at the gated house for over an hour in the cool spring air.

Finally, George decided that killing the bastard would not solve any problems and that him ending up in Azkaban would devastate his mother. Ultimately, he resolved to figure out some other way to handle the situation.

He awoke the next day with a pounding headache, the room spinning around him, his sweater itchy and hot against his neck. With only a moderate amount of trouble, he managed to remove the offending garment and toss it somewhere in the direction of his laundry hamper, padding through his dim apartment to the loo to retrieve a Pepper-Up Potion. He shook the steam from his ears, feeling slightly better and glad he had no mirrors. He wasn't sure he wanted to see if he looked as poorly as he felt. Then he remembered why he had been so drunk: Ginny was going to have to marry that bastard Malfoy. His lingering hangover dampened his previous rage. There wasn't much he could do to stop it, he figured somewhat dejectedly. For a moment he felt defeated.

He paused in his steps towards the stairs and shut his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into them. Fred would know what to do. Fred might have been able to fix this. Or at least, he'd have a better idea on where to start. George let out a breath, took another, and made a choice. He may not be able to stop his sister's arranged marriage, but at the very least he could whip her up a whole bunch of things to make life a little easier.

Clenching his hands into fists and shaking out his arms, George pushed all those thoughts back into the corner of his mind that he tried never to pay too much attention to and headed down into his workshop behind the shop.

The redhead spent a few hours hunched over his desk, scribbling ideas down, making a list of what Ginny could use. He finally set down his quill to stretch out his hand and stood from the stool to stretch the rest of his body. He was just contemplating heading up stairs for a change of clothes (track pants and a slightly dirty undershirt did not necessarily scream going out apparel) so that he could try and track down some food, when there was a knock at the door of the workshop.

 _Odd_ , he thought to himself. Usually his shopkeeper, Felicity, knew not to bother him when he was working. In fact, she often went so far out of the way not to bother him that she once had whipped up an entire batch of Puking Pastille's behind the counter because they were sold out.

She'd done a damn fine job of it, too. He resolved to do his best not to snap at the wonderfully well-meaning girl in future.

Shaking the thought from his mind, and accepting that usually it was his own fault for being so surly, George opened the door.

It wasn't Felicity standing on the other side.

Or, well, it was. But off to the left a bit. Instead, standing directly in front of him was an almost comically short woman with mousy brown hair that tumbled down to her shoulders, and pale green eyes. She had her arms crossed nervously in front of her chest and he didn't miss that she flicked her eyes over him from head to toe almost instinctively.

"Sorry about bothering you, George, but, well. She said it was quite important that she speak to you, and um," Felicity twirled a strand of her currently blue hair between her fingers, "she wouldn't exactly take no for an answer? I'm pretty sure she's not going to try to kill you though, if that's any consolation…"

George couldn't help but smile at his friend. "Alright, thanks Fee." He turned his attention back to the woman standing in front of him. "And, what should I call you?"

Her pale eyes flicked up to his face, scanning it with an intensity he hadn't quite been expecting. He definitely had not been expecting her answer.

"Win. Win Urquhart. Your, uh, fiancé, I suppose."

George was so startled he took a full step backwards, which she took as a sign to step into the lab after him and then close the door, looking around the room.

"I guess I shouldn't have, er, dropped in quite like this. But, it was all just so unexpected, so quick, yeah? I just couldn't deal with not knowing who you were, really. Other than one of the famous Weasleys, and the owner and brains behind this shop. I probably should've owled first…" George could see her discomfort growing and he shook his head quickly, still trying to figure out how best to cope with this situation.

"No, no, it's, uh, it's fine. I wasn't really expecting company, as you can probably tell. Or at least, I hope you can. I don't usually look this ragged." He admitted, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Look, why don't you come upstairs to my flat? We can have a cup of tea?"

Win considered this for a moment before she caught a whiff of the potions ingredients to her left and she wrinkled her nose and nodded in response. "Yeah, cheers, lead the way."

They settled into George's small living room a few minutes later, each with a cup of tea in hand. They had fallen into an awkward silence and Win was looking around the room, glancing at photographs of the Weasleys, smiling and laughing in Egypt, and one of Fred, George, and Harry Potter outside of the shop, shaking hands and laughing jovially.

"Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?" She finally asked, making eye contact with the man she was supposed to marry. "You don't have to, uh, get super personal. I'd just rather like to know I'm not marrying an axe murderer, I think."

George couldn't help but laugh at her trepidation. He didn't disagree. "Right, sure. George Fabian Weasley, fifth son of Molly and Arthur Weasley, though only by fourteen seconds." He paused, winced. "I guess fourth now. My brother, my twin, Fred, he, uh," Win gulped, and George swallowed, hard. "In the war, he-"

"It's okay. You don't have to say it."

George took this offering and continued on the best he could. "We opened up this shop together. Had a penchant for mischief and made it into a living. Fred was really the ideas guy, but I've done alright. One of the most profitable shops in Diagon Alley, actually, last quarter." He chewed on his lip, thinking about other important things. "Gryffindor, obviously. Beater. My favourite colour's blue?"

Win laughed softly as the man stumbled over what parts of his identity were the most important and decided to jump in. "Win Urquhart. I was in Ravenclaw, just a year behind you actually. You probably don't remember at all, I gave you a detention once, for one of your portable swamps." George flushed and frowned, but Win couldn't contain her laugh. "It was one of the most brilliant things I think I've ever seen." At this he flushed more, now smiling, and she carried on. "I'm an apprentice broom maker, with Nimbus. It sounds really interesting but I promise it isn't all that exciting. Red. Favourite colour, that is."

They stared at each other for a long moment and finally, slowly, smiled at one another. "Well, Win. I know we're already betrothed and all, but, how would you like to go out to lunch with me?"

Win smiled back, draining the last of her tea and setting her mug down. "Why, Mr. Weasley, I would be just delighted."

* * *

Ron was pissed. Both angry and drunk, in fact. It had been a few days since what he now called "the end of everything": when Hermione had said that they weren't worth trying. He'd gone to bed that night and when he woke up the next morning, she was gone. Harry said that she had needed to go back to her flat, to be alone for a bit. That being with all of them was difficult.

Difficult.

She didn't realize what difficult meant, not to him. The woman infuriated him, but he had been so sure for so long that she was it for him. Now he was positively reeling with the possibility that his entire future was falling apart around him. He had spent a full day in bed, and another full day ranting at Harry and Ginny (who, quite fairly, had had their own ranting back to do). The third day, after trying everything else, he had decided that the only possible solution was alcohol.

Unfortunately, Ron was not handling being drunk very well. He had started at a muggle pub in London, not wanting to run into anyone who he could possibly know. Somehow he had paid his tab, stumbling over his feet and muttering the entire way, and was now standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron.

It was easy enough to lie to himself and say that he had absolutely no clue how or why he had ended up here, but then again he had never been the best liar. He remembered hearing, a few months back, that Hannah Abbott had taken over running the Leaky. Hannah Abbott. His future wife. Even drunk he had the brief thought that he thought she had been with Neville, but it seemed like this law was quite happy to smash up relationships.

Ron took a deep breath of the cool spring air and wondered just briefly if this was a very good idea at all, and then pulled open the door and stepped inside. He sidestepped a few people and sat down in a stool at the bar, looking around to see if she was here.

Ah - there. Two long blonde braids, each with hairs springing loose, flashed around a corner and he knew, just _knew_ it was her. He sat at the bar and found himself getting angrier and angrier. He became more upset as the whiskey he drank tumbled through his system. When he heard his name, he snapped his head up and barked out a low "what" before he realized what he was doing.

What he was doing was looking into a pair of blue eyes and a girl who was frowning, displeased, down at him. "Ron Weasley," she said, low and without any of the stereotypical Hufflepuff friendliness. He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed at his initial reaction to her, and she turned away again. When she returned, she placed a full pint glass in front of him and one in front of herself, and then placed a hand on her hip to watch him. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Not, Ron thought, that she sounded very pleased. Instead of responding, he picked up his glass and swallowed half of it, stalling for time. Finally he put the glass down and found her eyes with his. "I 'eard we're gettin' married." He said, only slightly slurring over his words.

"Oh, lovely, can't wait to tell the children about that proposal." Hannah muttered, but then shook her head to clear it of whatever she was thinking. "Yes, I heard that too."

"I, uh." Ron lifted a hand to scrub it over his face, suddenly aware of the fact that he was very drunk and probably shouldn't be here at all. "I'm not entirely sure… I shouldn't have come…"

Hannah sighed, a long-suffering sounding sigh, and pulled the half-full pint glass away from him before he could finish it. "Look. I don't really know why we got matched up. I figured you'd be with Hermione, you two always," Hannah waved a hand in the air halfheartedly, but luckily did not finish up the thought verbally. "I don't really know you, Ronald, and I don't think you really know me. And, I don't think now is the time to fix that."

"You were in Hufflepuff!" Ron blurted out a little too loudly, drunk and trying to prove that yes actually he did know something, and Hannah's face reddened (whether in humiliation or anger, he wasn't sure) as she put the two glasses behind her.

"You should leave now, I think." She said, and while her words were unsure her tone was firm. Ron stood, and went to dig in his pocket for some sickles, but she shook her head. Deflated, and tired, Ron took one last look at the girl he was to marry and then headed for the fireplaces, desperate to get back in his own bed where he didn't have to deal with confusing Hufflepuffs or unwanted wives at all.

* * *

"It could have been much worse, darling, she could have been _muggleborn_."

Narcissa Malfoy had always had the incredible ability to sound like she was absolutely above any conversation that she took place in.

"Mother, that's not-"

"I suppose there is the pesky issue of her blood-traitor family. But these things are fixable, darling. And besides, did she not used to date Harry Potter? That could be very good for our image, you know."

"It's not our _image_ that I am _concerned_ about-"

"And she was pretty enough, if a little plain. Oh, and that awful red hair. We have more than enough money for both of you, with some new robes-"

"Mother." It was not typical that Draco Malfoy cut off his mother when she had her mind set on something. Usually, he listened somewhat patiently, nodded at the appropriate times, tried to pay enough attention to say something intelligent every once in awhile, and mostly ignored whatever it was that she was saying anyways. "I do appreciate your input, but I hope you recognize that this situation is far less than ideal, whatever her blood status may be. The fact that we're all just going to sit back and let the Ministry get away with this-"

"Do not forget that you could be in Azkaban with your father, and instead here you sit in my parlour interrupting me." Draco's mouth snapped into a thin line and he forced himself not to shout. "Do not forget, Draco, that you are a marked man. We were not on the winning side of this war. And yet, here we sit, in our house, with our freedom, having paid really a quite insignificant fee. Considering, of course, that others have paid with their freedom, with their lives. For us, all it took was a large donation, a few charity balls a year, and a trust fund for the school. That was never enough, and you know that as well as I do." Narcissa took a small sip of tea and then snapped her fingers, nodding graciously to the house elf who popped into the room to clear away the dishes. "If the Ministry told us to jump, we would ask how high. This is the _price_ , Draco. And if the price is for you to marry some girl you do not love, and to produce the heir which you need to produce _anyways_ , you will say _I do_. Is that clear?"

Draco could feel his blood boiling in rage and he clenched his hands together, reminding himself that she was his mother and that at the end of this conversation was a very large glass of Ogden's Finest. "Yes, I am well aware what we have paid in reparations. I am well aware of the mark that I had branded into my _skin_ when a _psychopath_ lived in our house." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Besides," he said, deciding to change directions. "This Weasley will absolutely not accept the thought of marrying me. In fact, by now I'm sure Potter has bashed down the doors of every Ministry official and this will all be overturned in less than a week."

Narcissa had raised an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips in doubt, but said no more on the subject.

A week later, she brought it up again. "You need to send young Ms. Weasley a letter, Draco. As much as we have been forced into this, that does not abdicate your responsibility as a gentleman. You must write a letter to this girl, indicate clearly your interest," she pretended to ignore Draco's scoff, "and ask her properly to marry you. And if she says no, you must do what it takes to convince her. Whether or not she agrees to this, we absolutely cannot be seen dragging an unwilling girl - and not just any girl but one with such connections to the man who defeated Voldemort - up the aisle. It would be uncouth."

Draco had, begrudgingly, written a letter. It was not long or particularly friendly, but he had forced as much civility as he could manage into the parchment. He had ended it with, as his mother demanded, the damning question. "Will you join me as my wife?" Draco had drank two rather large glasses of gin just to get through it.

He drank three more when his owl returned less than an hour later, the letter he had written still attached to her leg, and three words scrawled across the back of it:

" _Fuck you. Yes_."


	4. Wedding Bells

Harry and Hermione were the first ones to get married.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Less than a month after the announcement, George and Win had disappeared for a week and returned with matching silver wedding bands and matching twinkles in their eyes. The best way, George had said sagely, to avoid having to wear some godawful dress robe picked out by Molly Weasley, was to run far far away and avoid the whole process completely.

After that, Harry and Hermione decided they might as well just get on with it so that it was _over_. Hermione had made Molly promise not to invite anyone but family, or at least the family that she had left. Mostly, it was a whole bunch of Weasleys, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and Hannah Abbott. Andromeda Tonks with a two year old Teddy Lupin on her lap filled out the rest of the front row with Molly and the other immediate family. Charlie had shown up with his new partner, a tall woman with dark skin and bright eyes, and explained that they had gotten married a day after the law was passed and figured they would never talk about it again. Neither of them, he tried to explain, were very interested in anything much other than dragons anyways. Percy had brought his wife of now more than a year, Penelope Clearwater, and Bill had arrived with Fleur and their daughter, two week old Victoire.

It was a quiet affair. Both Harry and Hermione were still rather wary of crowds, and the more people invited the more there would be about it in the press - something they both wished to avoid if possible. Arthur presided over the ceremony, smiling uncomfortably down at his two not-quite-children as he attempted to say absolutely nothing about love and to only casually imply that this was more or less government coercion, all while covering everything needed to keep the entire affair legal.

George and Win had snuck off at some point during the middle, and when Arthur uncomfortably nodded for Harry and Hermione to kiss (so briefly it could barely be counted as such), fireworks exploded behind them and the sparks formed into a visage of Hermione smacking the man across the face.

Overall, it was wholly uneventful and not nearly as uncomfortable as Hermione had been anticipating. She didn't wear a white dress, opting instead for a pale floral sundress that contrasted beautifully against her dark skin, and Harry's outfit was plain and his trainers had grass stains. He spent the entirety of the evening, minus the one customary song, dancing with Ginny, and she had hung around by the punch bowl to ensure that George didn't slip anything into it. She hadn't seen him this mischievous since before Fred died, and she was quite looking forward to getting to know Win a little better.

When the night was finally over and the guests had left, Hermione had big dreams of returning to her flat and sinking into her bathtub and maybe never getting out of it. The Ministry, on the other hand, had slightly different plans. While couples were not required to have actual intercourse to consummate these marriages, they were required to live in the same residence as their new spouses, immediately and permanently. It was an issue that they probably should have discussed before this point came, but Hermione knew that there was no detaching Harry from Grimmauld Place, where he had such strong familial ties through Sirius. In the end they'd agreed that the former Most Noble and Ancient House of Black was really their best option.

Kreacher had shrieked bloody murder about a "mudblood living in the house" until Harry had threatened him with as many socks as the little elf could carry, denying him the ability to continue to serve the Black line. By the time Hermione finally made it to the bedroom that Harry had set up for her, she was exhausted and upset and mourning, once again, for the future she could have had. Together, her and Harry sat on the edge of her bed as she cried and he rubbed at her back, once more promising that it would all be okay, eventually.

Hermione wasn't sure how long either of them could wait for "eventually" to become now.

* * *

Ron and Hannah were next. Even at the wedding, it was clear that they were both hesitant about the process, uncomfortable with the thought and each other but going through with it anyways. By this point they were two months out from the bill being passed, and neither had wanted to wait any longer for fear of Ministry retribution.

Their wedding was another small affair. In fact, the guest list seemed quite similar to Hermione's, with the addition of a variety of Hufflepuffs from a few different years and a handful of Ravenclaws that Hermione didn't recognize, but who seemed to be good friends or spouses to the crowd of Hufflepuffs. Molly had decorated the entire Burrow with flowers, and they were married in the back garden in the mid-spring sun. Hannah had looked beautiful in a simple white dress, and Ron wore the dark blue "ridiculous dress robes" that George had run away to avoid. They stood next to a flowerbed which was budding with new growth and Hannah tried very hard not to think about the fact that she didn't have much family to be there for her.

The Weasleys tried very hard to convince her that she did.

Hermione spotted, after the wedding, Molly and Hannah deep in an animated discussion about the best way to keep a shepherd's pie crust from sogging and how much shortening they should really be using in various baked goods. Later, she noticed Ginny telling the blonde exactly how to make Ron squirm, if he should ever need coaxing into anything. George and Win pressed her hands full of Canary Creams and Fainting Fudge and a variety of other products Hermione couldn't quite identify, probably with some whispered word on prank wars and sneaky brothers that caused Hannah to toss her head back and laugh.

Eventually, Hermione was able to make it through the throng of people to smile at the woman who had married her ex-boyfriend. Hannah smiled back, carefully, and before Hermione could think about it she pulled the girl into a quick hug. Hannah blushed fiercely. "I know this is, um, awkward. You and Ron-"

"Never really got anywhere, Hannah. Look, I know this is some whole scheme cooked up by the Ministry, but. I want Ron to be happy. And I want you to be happy as well. And you might not make each other happy, but, if they got something right and you _do_ , well." Hermione shrugged, carefully. "That would make me happy too."

Hannah nodded and lifted a hand to brush a tear off her cheek. "I do appreciate it, Hermione. This," Hannah gestured around them, "isn't exactly what I planned for my wedding, is it? My mom dead, my dad in America, me marrying a man I don't even really know, much less love. But…" She looked around over the crowd, redheads smiling back at her, friends mingling and dancing, laughter in the air. "But maybe it won't be so bad?"

"The Weasleys have an incredible knack for making just about anyone they deem worthy to be family, Hannah. You're in now. Even if this doesn't work out, I have a feeling they won't be letting you go any time soon."

The women exchanged one more smile before Hannah was being swept into another conversation with a tall brunette that Hermione remembered from being a Ravenclaw prefect. Hermione made her way once more to stand guard over the punch bowl and forced herself not to cry about the injustice of it all.

* * *

Three days before the three month deadline for marriage, Ginny Weasley married Draco Malfoy in the ballroom of the manor.

It was the party of the year.

Narcissa Malfoy had a knack for event planning. She also had a knack for knowing when she made others uncomfortable and doing absolutely nothing to change any of it. The very choice of venue had been part of this. Ginny had decided that she wanted as little to do with the wedding as humanly possible and had hefted off the planning and responsibility to Draco, who in turn passed it onto his mother. She could have chosen anywhere for their wedding, but had artfully decided that one of the best things she could do would be to bring the golden members of society into her home, into a room that held terrible memories, and turn it into a place of happiness and love. Not, of course, that either of those emotions were present. But Narcissa clearly saw the event as a way to look as though they had changed, had improved, were worthy of being the darlings of society again.

The entire room had been redone. It was bright and airy, white marble and tall pillars, light coloured comfortable sofas and round tables with lacy white cloths spread around the room. One entire wall held a buffet table which, after the ceremony, was covered in delicious looking food items. Firewhiskey and butterbeer, even muggle gin flowed freely, and all of the staff were human, not elf.

A beautiful arch decorated with flowers stood at the front of the room, and it was under this arch that Draco and Ginny were married. She wore white, a dress Narcissa had picked out. Classic and contemporary, it looked perfect on Ginny's short stature, and she had white lilies braided into her hair. _For Harry_ , she had told Hermione, voice fierce as the stylist tugged on her long red locks.

Draco was in deep green dress robes, and stood at the front of the room doing his best not to look hesitant. Hermione, sitting in the front on the bridal side, noticed that the look in his eyes was familiar. He looked as though he had covered his emotions with a thin veneer, and something more was bubbling under the surface. When Ginny entered the room and the crowd turned and gasped, she kept her eyes on the blonde and realized that it was the same look he wore the entirety of their sixth look at Hogwarts. Haunted. Hunted.

The ballroom held more guests than Hermione, Harry, and Ron's weddings combined. The Weasleys were, of course, all there. New wives and extended family too, including Aunt Muriel who had not been in attendance for Ron's wedding the month prior. Luna and Neville as well, who Hermione was sure had been a forcible invitation from Ginny. During the small role that Ginny had played in the planning process, she had handed over a list full of the names of Gryffindors and other classmates, not backing down from this challenge. Narcissa had been accommodating, and as Hermione looked back she also spotted Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Susan Bones, both of the Patil twins, Lavender Brown, and even a vaguely uncomfortable looking Michael Corner.

The groom's side was smaller, but not by much. Narcissa sat in the front, stoic and poised and alone. Her husband in Azkaban and her sister a _traitor_. She had filled the gap by inviting all of Draco's friends from school, as well as their parents and siblings, a handful of pureblood society wives, Rita Skeeter, and a few more people who Hermione wouldn't recognize if she tried.

As the ceremony began, Harry - sitting to her left - slid his hand into hers and squeezed. She took a second to flick her eyes across to him, watching the way he held his jaw tightly and his shoulders square, feeling his dull fingernails dig into the back of her hand. She squeezed back to reassure him, and refocused her gaze on the front.

The wedding itself was rather uneventful. A traditional ceremony, much more stoic and formal than either hers or Ron's had been. It had been complete with a traditional handfasting that, were it under any other circumstances, would have been beautiful. Silver swirls of magic mingled with scarlet red, twisting around their hands and melding together, settling into their skin.

Everything had been going alright. Until the reception.

Hermione had been standing and speaking to Hannah and Seamus, keeping one eye focused on Harry who was hovering near Ginny and a group of Weasley relatives, standing close but not close enough to be improper. Ginny and Draco had already shared their dance, stiff and stilted, as the waiting staff had magically cleared away the chairs and filled the buffet table. Ron had disappeared to the food table to fill plates for both himself and Hannah. Draco was standing with his mother, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini, all collectively looking rather uncomfortable at the sheer number of Gryffindors in the room. At one point, Hermione caught the blonde's eyes and couldn't look away: he was glaring, clearly not happy, though his face looked relatively neutral. She was so shocked by the intensity of emotion, and figured that it was directed most likely at her for the sheer fact of her existence, she had looked away and turned her entire body out of his sight line, scanning the room instead.

Everything had been going alright, until Hermione glanced up.

She was standing exactly in the middle of the room, underneath a large chandelier. Before she realized what was happening, before she had time to look away, everything changed. Her heart pounded into action against her chest, blood rushed to her head and drowned out the noise of the crowd. She dug her fingernails into her palms and felt her entire body shake around her and her eyes were closed and she was gasping and trying to breathe and trying to drown out the high cackling voice, bracing her body for the next Cruciatus, wishing it would be over wishing she would just _die_ -

Arms were around her and she was being pulled out of the middle of the ballroom, into a dark corner, someone was holding her and running a hand over her hair. "Shh, shh, it's okay, it's not real, it's not happening, you're safe, you're safe-"

As the words started to sink in, Hermione forced herself to take a deep shuddering breath and open her eyes. Her body was still shaking, but less so now that she was being held so tightly, and when she opened her eyes she was shocked to see not long curly dark hair or a cruel smirk, but the top of a head of light brown hair. Taking a few more deep breaths, Hermione managed to uncurl her fingers and release the tension in her shoulders, and when the person holding her realized this they let her go, just a little.

It was George's new wife Win, standing beside her, peering up at Hermione and rubbing her back. "Hi." Win said softly, smiling gently at the taller woman. "Glad you're back with us."

Hermione nodded, not entirely sure what to say. It was rather awkward, the whole situation. "Um, what..?" She was never her most coherent after an episode like that.

Win properly let go now, and took Hermione's hand in hers, tugging her down to sit on a settee that they had been standing next to. "Sorry to have intruded. But, you were having a panic attack. You looked up and then your whole body went rigid and I don't actually think anyone noticed, but I could see you shaking so I pulled you over here and, well." She shrugged one shoulder, not apologetically. "My sister still has them. She was there, during the battle. I was too - came as soon as I got the owl - but I was helping out with the wounded, not in the action. She finds that being held very tightly brings her back out of it. That looked like a bad one, though."

Hermione could only nod mutely, not letting go of Win's hand, frankly just glad someone had noticed before it got worse and she made a fool of herself. In fact, looking out over the crowd it seemed Win was right. No one had noticed at all. She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not.

"What can I do?" Win asked next, concern evident on her face.

"I, I'm not sure. Usually I just, I don't really realize until it's over and I'm mostly out of it. Sometimes it happens quickly. Sometimes, not so much." Hermione admitted. "I just." She sighed, rubbing a hand across her face. This was a lot to be opening up to a stranger with, but Win was George's wife, and something deep in Hermione's chest needed to say it, and there was a curiosity in Win's eyes that she couldn't quite avoid. "I was tortured. Right there," she pointed to the middle of the ballroom, where Neville and Seamus were laughing at something Dean had said, and Ron was handing Hannah a plate of food and offering her a small smile. "They've redone the whole room, everything. Barely recognizable. Except the chandelier."

Win glanced up and frowned. "Well that was rather dumb of them, wasn't it? It's an absolutely hideous chandelier. Don't know why they'd leave that up."

"It's actually worse than that. It broke - we broke it getting out. The chandelier. But it looks like they had it repaired to look exactly… exactly the same." Her voice broke and she frowned, feeling the tears running down her cheek. "I was fine, mostly. It's just hard to be here, to see it. They've changed the whole room and left the one thing that I couldn't stand to see again."

Win sighed in resignation and then looked back out to the party. "Maybe we should leave. I can get George - he's sneaking something into the punch, I think,"

"Knew it," Hermione mumbled.

"And we can all just leave."

"Win," Hermione began, shaking her head. "You don't have to do that for me. And besides, I, I need… If Ginny's going to be living here," she shuddered, "I need to be able to at least be in the house. I should stay for, for at least a little bit longer."

Win nodded and stood, tugging Hermione up with her.

"Thank you, Win, I." She paused, frowned, realization hitting her all at once. "Winifred. Your full name, it's…"

Win blushed furiously and shook her head, glancing around to make sure George was nowhere near her. "You can't tell him. He can't know. Do you know what that would do to him?"

Hermione couldn't help it, she laughed. "Maybe the Ministry wasn't just pulling all of this compatibility bullshit out of their-" her voice trailed off as she noticed Ginny and Harry, standing close enough to touch and yet looking so far away, with mismatched wedding bands and matching sorrow. "Then again."

Win sighed in agreement, noticing where Hermione's eyes had gone.

"Then again."


	5. Life Begins

Hermione _hated_ Grimmauld Place. It was dark - both dingy and magically - and cold, the paintings screamed at her daily, and it took a significant amount of work to not constantly remember being on the run with Harry and Ron, living here and searching for R.A.B.'s locket.

Eventually, she decided she had had quite enough. On a day where Harry had work and she did not, she got down to business. Starting in the basement, she scoured dirt and grime and sorted out objects and artifacts. "Things that are definitely too dark to be legal," "Things that are too broken, old, or ugly to be useful," and "Things that Harry may possibly want to keep to maintain his connection to Sirius and thus his parents." The first category was quite obviously the largest, and the last had nearly nothing in it.

By the time she made it to the attic, it was halfway through the afternoon. She was sweaty and coated in dirt; her hair would take hours to untangle, but she was feeling accomplished. All of the paintings that could be removed had been, and she had stacked them by the door to discuss their fates with Harry. Walburga's painting still had curtains hung in front of it, and Hermione was debating simply blowing up the entire wall - but she needed to figure out if that would compromise the structure of the building, and if so, would it be magically fixable.

Hermione wasn't sure which part of the house she was more proud of. She had managed to clean it so thoroughly and throw out so many things that the rooms actually felt habitable. Downstairs was finally feeling like a space they could live in, rather than just exist. After cleaning the living room windows, throwing out the carpet, and _scourgify_ ing the couches multiple times, it actually seemed like a place she would be comfortable sitting to drink tea. The dining room too: she had removed the dreadfully dark curtains and emptied out the china cabinet that had been full of dark artifacts. While the room still reminded her of Order meetings, it no longer felt like war and death.

The library on the second floor was even better. Buried under three layers of dirt was the most comfortable armchair Hermione had ever sat in, despite it's deep green colour. The floor to ceiling bookshelves had been interesting too, once she had blasted away years of accumulated dust. Many of the tomes were probably a little too dark to really consider keeping, but she had tucked them all away on one shelf with a charm over them just in case, deciding she would need to actually read them all to be more sure. She'd also finally moved in all of her books from her apartment (which she had rented out to a lovely muggle student, knowing the place would be ready for her when this atrocious bill was finally overturned) and cleaned off the desk, setting it up for herself to use as a work space. She'd left Sirius and Regulus' bedrooms both intact, not having it in her heart to change either of them. They would be fine as guest rooms, and could always be converted to other spaces if and when needed. There was a third bedroom on this floor as well, sparsely decorated with a simple double bed for guests. She had cleaned it quickly but, due to its emptiness, it hadn't needed much work.

On the third floor, she hadn't touched Harry's bedroom. The original house design must have had a massive master bedroom on the third floor, spanning almost the entirety of the space with a large ensuite bathroom and the tapestry room being the only other rooms on the floor. At some point, Hermione assumed that whoever was living there decided they no longer wanted to share a room with their spouse and the bedroom had been divided up into two rooms. One was still far larger, which was where Harry was staying, and she had the other. For her own room, she had applied the same treatment, emptying it of nearly everything inside and trying to set up the things she had brought from her own apartment to make it feel more like home.

And now, tired but pleased with her work, she was in the attic. It had been relegated to storage many years ago, which meant quite a lot of cleaning and also throwing out that needed to be done. There were more books up here, and a few things which may have belonged to Sirius, all of which she saved aside to speak to Harry about. She found another lovely armchair which she shrunk down and moved into her bedroom, as well as some items which she felt would be alright actually in the house - though most of the attic itself contained only garbage.

Nearing the back of the room, Hermione had a feeling. It seemed… too small, up there. She'd now been through most of the other floors pretty thoroughly, and something about the sizing of the attic just felt off. Digging around in the back, where she felt the wall came too quickly, she brushed her hands over the wall and felt - there! A seam! Fumbling more, she found a small latch and clicked it open, pushing, and was met with a blast of summer air and sunlight and she gasped. There was a rooftop garden that looked abandoned. Carefully she stepped outside and found herself completely hidden from the road and neighbours due to the height of the building, and nowhere seemed near enough to an edge to fall to her doom. There were planters and trellises and a bench or two, a handful of dead plants, and in the middle a small fountain that was still bubbling with water.

Finally, she'd found somewhere in this godforsaken place that she didn't hate. Already, her mind swirled with thoughts of what she could plant out here, and when she went back into the house later it was with an entirely renewed purpose.

* * *

Malfoy Manor was cold, and big, and _empty_.

Ginny hated it.

It was the opposite of The Burrow, which was always overflowing with people and warmth, smells of food wafting out of the kitchen, loud noises and laughter filling every inch. Ginny had been forced to leave and now lived in a large empty bedroom, and her heart ached for her family. Here she never had to wait in line to use the bathroom, or fight her brothers for a chance at the delicious mashed potatoes. Here she could wander through the house and never run into anyone, spend hours in a room and not hear a single noise. Here felt like dying, compared to the life of The Burrow.

Defiantly, she had decorated her entire bedroom in bright reds and golds but already they seemed muted, less like an imposition and more like a concession. She had filled the room with pictures of family and friends, but had to flip over the frame of her and Harry kissing at Shell Cottage, because every time she looked at it her heart fractured a little further.

Malfoy had placed her in the same wing of the house that he was in, on the opposite side of the building from his mother. Despite this, she never saw him, never heard him. Ginny knew that he worked at the Ministry, or at least _with_ the Ministry, but other than that did not care to find out more. They spent weeks passing each other like ghosts, Ginny eating her meals in the basement kitchen with Bilby the house-elf, or in her room. Draco left for work early and came home late. Ginny did not even see Narcissa, though she'd made a careful effort to avoid the woman in case she was anywhere near as fanatical as her older sister.

Ginny's Quidditch practices were frequent, but not enough to keep her out of the house as much as she needed to be. To fill time, she went for brunch with Luna, and drinks with Neville and Dean and Seamus.

One day, when she had nothing planned and no idea who she could drop in on to get her out of this house, she had a brilliant idea. Pulling on her training gear, she scooped up her broom and took the stairs two at a time down to the ground floor, headed outside with a purpose and a need to fly. The Malfoy grounds were large and empty - a perfect place to practice new plays. She'd been in the air for nearly half an hour when she was suddenly aware that someone was watching her.

Dropping down into a feint, Ginny pulled up at the last minute and found herself eye-level with Draco Malfoy, who was standing on the ground with his arms crossed and his brow raised, watching. "Well, Weasley. Looks like you haven't lost all of your talent since school."

Ginny sneered back at him. " _Malfoy_." She hissed, voice low and dangerous. "It's _Malfoy_ now."

Draco laughed into the wind, though his face did not change much. "Malfoy." He repeated.

"I'll have you know," Ginny said, broom thrumming under her as she held steady in front of him. "I play professionally."

"Hm. Chaser, right?" He glanced down at his manicured nails. "Well, not everyone can be a Seeker."

Ginny now had to bite back her own laugh, it felt cold and cruel on her tongue. "Get your broom."

Draco now looked up at her, silver-grey eyes meeting brown, searching. She smirked at him, and he turned on his heel, disappearing back to the house.

It was only a few minutes later that he was soaring out of the manor, Quidditch robes on his back and an expensive broom between his knees. He held something in his hand, and as he approached Ginny he uncurled his fingers and a Snitch darted out. Ginny's face broke into a grin and she swung her broom around, turning to glance back over her shoulder at Draco.

"You're on!" And with that, they were off.

Nearly an hour and a half later Ginny shouted triumphantly and pulled her broom to a halt, fingers clasped around the small golden ball, laughing as she spiraled down to the ground and slid off her broom.

Draco followed her down, climbing off his own broom much more elegantly and standing in front of her, looking down at the redhead who was sitting on the grass, laughing up at him. He brushed his hands together as if wiping them of filth and she waited for a snide comment, but instead he was just watching her carefully. Ginny pulled herself to her feet and managed to contain her laughter. She couldn't help it, his palpable disappointment had been so childish when he realized she had beat him, and though he had mostly washed it off his features now she could still see hints of it in his slightly furrowed brow.

"Well," she said, looking down at her hand - unpainted nails, chipped and lined with dirt - and then back up to him, eyes glinting. "Not everyone can be a Seeker." And then, turning on her heel just as she had done, Ginny headed back to the Manor. She had almost reached the doors when she heard him, voice low but carried over the wind towards him.

"You won't be so lucky next time, Weaslette."

Ginny pursed her lips, hoisting her broom further up her shoulder, and responded though she knew he would never hear her from here.

"Malfoy."

* * *

Work was stressful. Work was stressful and Hermione was busy and it seemed like no matter how hard she tried, she was blocked time and again. She had been working on werewolf rights since the day she started in her position. Small things first - she wanted to repeal the anti-werewolf legislation passed by Umbridge a few years earlier, and was more or less successful. Werewolves could now get jobs, although there were still problems with them being unfairly discriminated against for missing time due to recovery from the full moon. Which brought her to her next, and biggest, goal: mandating that Wolfsbane potion be provided free of charge to _all_ werewolves, indefinitely. The problem was that Damocles Belby and his family still deserved to profit from the brilliant invention of the potion, which meant that the Ministry needed to create a subsidy program for its provision.

They were stalling.

Money was always an area where they stalled.

On top of that, many people had been attacked during the war and they still did not have full records of everyone who had been bitten. People were still afraid to come forward for fear of being put on a Ministry registry which could negatively impact them (despite Hermione's repealment of the worst of the laws), or for other reasons that she wasn't entirely sure of - because she couldn't exactly ask someone who hadn't come forward why they hadn't come forward, since they weren't around to ask.

It was an endless headache.

Deciding that she needed a cup of tea to make any of the rest of the day even possible, Hermione closed up her small office and headed towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, hoping to coerce Harry or Ron or Susan into joining her.

It was too late by the time she realized that Draco Malfoy was in the same hallway and headed in her direction.

"Granger," he said, voice indifferent. And then he paused mid-stride, and a rather evil grin flittered across his face. "Or, should I say _Potter_ now, seeing as you finally did what everyone was expecting and married the Chosen One."

Hermione clenched her hand into a ball, reminding herself she could _not_ hex another Ministry employee. "As you well know, Malfoy, Harry and I are only married because of that stupid law. And it's still Granger, thank you very much - I don't subscribe to outdated customs, wizard or muggle."

She could almost hear the smirk in his voice as he responded. "Not like it makes any difference. What are you, Granger? Some mild-mannered civil-servant who is never going to accomplish anything. Pity, that."

Red flashed behind her eyes and she was speaking before she could help it. "At least I'm not married to a ferret." It felt like a moderate insult, something meant to poke but not dig. She didn't expect him to step closer to her, eyebrows drawn down in anger, fist clenched.

"Fuck you, Granger," he growled, and she tensed at the fury in his voice. "I would have thought you, out of anyone..." He paused, shook his head. "A fucking teacher transfigured me against my will. Did you know that if you're injured in a transfigured state you can feel it just as clearly, that breaking eight bones is excruciating no matter what form you're in?" Hermione swallowed. "You just can't keep your fucking nose out of anyone's business, can you, Granger? So bloody righteous when it comes to you and yours, happy to stand back when anyone you don't like or agree with gets thrown against the ground in front of you."

Hermione clenched her jaw and dug her fingernails further into her palms to try and suppress some of the anger she was feeling. "And who are you to say that?" she snapped, pulling herself up to her full height - still nearly a foot shorter than the blonde who was now standing only a foot away from her. "You, you -" she paused, took a deep breath. "You stood there while your aunt _tortured_ me!" It wasn't really fair, it wasn't like he could have done anything or he would have been killed. "You're just a bloody ex-Death Eater who had no problems watching a _mudblood_ be _Crucio_ 'd on your carpet! Probably more worried about how to get the stain out than someone's life-"

"Shut your mouth." He said, voice low and dangerous and strained in a way she hadn't been expecting. "You don't- you think you know everything but you don't, Granger." And with that he was spinning on his heel and stalking out of the hallway.

Hermione leaned back against the wall behind her, breathing deeply, trying not to descend into panic. What was she thinking?


	6. Dinner Parties

"Ginny's coming over tonight."

Hermione was sitting in the living room, lounging in a comfy armchair with a book propped open on her lap and a mug of tea in her hands. She barely registered what Harry was saying, nodding in response with a quick "that's nice".

Harry was still standing in the room, and Hermione could see him shifting back and forth on his feet, hands stuffed in his pockets. She sighed and looked up from her book, peering at him over the rim of her mug. "Do I need to do anything? I'm sure Kreacher would be happy to cook-"

Harry cut her off. "She's bringing Malfoy." Then paused, winced. "Draco Malfoy."

"What?!" Hermione sat up quickly enough that her book tumbled to the floor and she only just managed to steady her tea. "Why on earth would she do that?"

Harry shrugged awkwardly and ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "I dunno. But I guess, well. There's been some talk that the Ministry are… are monitoring some couples, particularly those of us who are, uh, well known. Especially if we had relationships previously. And I suppose, with an influential pureblood family like Malfoy, they're watching them pretty closely. Then add in me being, well, me, and…" Hermione's brows had risen so much she would be surprised if she had any forehead left at all. "So, anyways, Ginny's bringing Malfoy with her as cover, I guess. We'll have a friendly-looking dinner party and then maybe, uhm, Ginny and I might-"

"I don't need the details." Hermione said quickly. "I'll, I can keep Malfoy occupied, I guess." She winced. "I mean, we'll probably be yelling so much that you'll have plenty of time to," she waved a hand, deciding she'd rather not voice it. "What time?"

Harry glanced at the clock on the mantle. "An hour?"

Hermione sighed, picking her book up from the floor and marking her page. "Great. Just, great."

* * *

True to their word, exactly an hour later Hermione heard the doorbell ring throughout the house. She took one last look in the mirror, and then mentally berated herself for the action. It wasn't that she felt the need to look nice, just that she'd rather not be a complete rat's nest if they were having company - but it wasn't like _Malfoy_ was anyone she needed to impress. Tugging one strand of hair, she watched as it bounced back up into a curl and decided that it would all have to be good enough, before she turned and headed down the stairs for the entrance hall.

When she got there, Kreacher had opened the door to let in the guests. Harry and Ginny were hugging, probably for a bit too long by that point. Malfoy was standing behind the redhead, holding a bottle of wine and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

 _Into the lion's den_ , Hermione thought, and then cleared her throat to break up the lovebirds. Harry stepped back abruptly and she could see Ginny's ears turn the slightest shade of pink at the tips, before the small redhead rushed into her arms. Hermione returned the hug, squeezing her friend, glad to see she was all in one piece.

"Right," Harry began, awkwardly looking at the odd group assembled in the hallway. "Shall we, er, go into the dining room? I think dinner's just about ready."

* * *

Dinner was awkward, to say the least. For the most part, conversation had been amongst the three Gryffindors, and focused on surface level topics such as work and Quidditch scores and who else had gotten married and how warm it was getting outside.

Hermione ignored the fact that Harry and Ginny spent the entire meal undressing each other with their eyes, and thought for not the first time that maybe it was a good thing she hadn't been matched with Ron, if only because she never found herself looking at him like that.

Kreacher returned with a light pop and whisked the plates away from them with a hand wave. He snapped his fingers and plates of pie popped up in place of the dinner plates, and Hermione managed to quickly thank him before he had disappeared to the kitchen again.

Ginny laughed as this scene played out. "I don't know why you bother _thanking_ him, Hermione! Nasty little bugger hates you."

Hermione levelled a glare at her friend. "Yes, well, that isn't exactly his fault, is it? Walburga was horrendous to him! No wonder he's so upset all the time. And Harry won't let me free him-"

"He doesn't want to be freed!" Harry said quickly.

"Well at least we could ask him!"

"Hermione, after everything with S.P.E.W.-"

It was at this moment that Draco, for the first time in the evening, responded to the conversation with a hearty laugh. "S.P.E.W.? Wasn't that your ridiculous project about setting free all those house elves at Hogwarts? Honestly, Granger. And you're supposed to be smart-"

"And _what_ is that supposed to mean?" Hermione said, snapping her head around to turn her glare on Malfoy now, much more intense than she had glared at Ginny. "Wizards treat house elves like, like rubbish! It's not alright to own anyone, Malfoy, whether or not they're an elf or a wizard."

Draco rolled his eyes at her, using the napkin on his lap to brush at his lips and then balling it up next to his empty plate. "I didn't see you cooking the meal, Granger."

Hermione nearly threw her hands in the air. "Well, maybe if I'd had more than an hour's notice that we were having company!" She shot Harry a look, and he did his best not to laugh in response. "Trust me, I am certainly not happy that he believes he belongs to us. But at least we pay him, and he can use that money to do whatever he pleases on his days off."

Draco now was laughing openly. "You give your house elf a day off?" The man leaned back in his seat, lifting a hand to wipe a non-existent tear off his eyes as his laughter subsided. "Oh, I haven't laughed like that in ages, Granger. Merlin. Days off."

Hermione was seething now, and his laughter was only fueling her anger. "Of course we give him days off! You can't, you can't just expect him to work every single day without any break!"

Draco shook his head, dismissive. "You don't get it. How could you?"

Rage was boiling up in her blood and she felt her fingernails digging in her palm, so angry she didn't notice as Harry and Ginny both stood and slipped away from the table. "How dare you say that to me, Malfoy? Because I'm a muggleborn? So I can't possibly understand _wizarding culture_ \- despite the fact that I've been in this world nearly half my life? I apologize if I can't rationalize _slavery_." She paused, eyes narrowing at him, hands shaking in rage. "Because, if you had any understanding at all, of anything, you would recognize _exactly why_ I get it, and _exactly why_ I am opposed to it!"

Draco flapped his hand, waving off her argument. "Granger, it's not the same thing as slavery. Elves are a different species. They're not human. We don't own people like barbarians. Besides. They have different magic than us - they can get household tasks done in seconds. You don't need to give elves a day off, they barely do any work as it is."

"Barely do any work?" Hermione was near screaming now. "Just because their magic works differently, because they're not the same as you, you think it's alright to expect them to work for you every day for nothing?"

"Oh please. They enjoy it."

Hermione saw red. "Enjoy it?!" She forced herself to take a deep, calming breath, though she could feel her entire body tense and shaking despite it. "That's exactly what they said about slaves too. Do you know any history, Malfoy? Or just because your skin is white, do you think you can ignore everything because, well, it wouldn't have been your ancestors?" Her eyes were narrow now, eyebrows drawn down and lips pursed in an expression that both Harry and Ron knew to be wary of. "Because it's alright to own people who look differently than you," she said, speaking slowly, sure that if it was possible venom would be dripping from her lips. "Because people like _you_ owned people like _me_ and laughed at our pain and when they got uncomfortable with what they were doing they said 'well that's alright, _they like it_ '!"

Before she realized what was happening, Draco had stood and was on her side of the table, sitting in Harry's abandoned chair and wrapping a hand around her upper arm. "Granger-" her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily and he shook her slightly. "Fuck," he murmured. "I need a drink." He mumbled, and then louder: "Granger, look at me." When she did, opening her bright brown eyes to peer back at him, she thought for a moment that she saw concern in his features. "Stop. Breathe. That's not what I'm saying. Actually, most wizards - including my family - never owned slaves. Why would we bother owning people when we had elves?"

Hermione took a deep breath, but pulled her arm out from under his hand, not saying anything just yet in response and closing her eyes to try and recenter.

"Look. I know how you feel about elves. Merlin, you wouldn't shut up about it back at school. And this one that Potter's got seems like a pretty terrible example since he loathes everything. But, truly, a lot of elves do actually enjoy their jobs. And no, a lot of families don't pay them money, but if an elf should ask for something it would most likely be given. Other than a few," he paused, frowning, "arseholes, most wizards treat their elves pretty well. My father was, of course, an exception. As, I believe, was Walburga Black."

Hermione finally opened her eyes and looked back at him, hoping her eyes weren't too watery to give away her feelings. "Malfoy, you're never going to change my mind."

Draco shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "People don't really debate to change each other's minds, do they?"

She let this thought roll around in her mind and eventually leaned back in her own chair. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire." She said, looking back towards her half-eaten dessert. The blonde man beside her raised a questioning eyebrow, and she sighed. "In the muggle world, it's skin colour. I thought, I figured in the wizarding world everyone would be equal. No one would care what I looked like." She shrugged half-heartedly. "I guess that was true. No one really cared what I looked like. They cared about my blood."

No expression passed over Draco's face, but she thought she saw something in his eyes - regret? "Yes, well. Many of us were quite stupid, as you remember."

"Was that… Is that your idea of an apology?" At this, Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Gods, if only this situation wasn't so horrendous. Draco Malfoy, making the most half-hearted apology to her possible while their spouses had sex two floors above them.

"No." He frowned and turned towards her again, looking over her face. The two sat like that for a moment that started to feel too long, before Draco cleared his throat. "I am, though. Sorry. For the way I treated you. There are no excuses for my behaviour."

Hermione fidgeted, uncomfortable under his intense gaze. "Your parents indoctrinated you into racist beliefs." She mumbled, not feeling like she could look away from his gaze.

"You were better than me. Are." He said simply, but before he could expand on what exactly that meant there was a noise in the hallway and he was standing, backing away from her, still looking down into her eyes. Harry entered the room, trying without success to smooth down his even more tousled than normal hair, and Ginny was unashamedly untwisting her bra strap.

"Well." Hermione said, finally tearing her eyes away from Malfoy's, and looking at the two standing in the doorway.

"Well." Harry repeated, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"It was so lovely of you to have us over." Ginny said, falling easily back into the role of charmed dinner guest, wife of a socialite. "We'll have to do this again sometime." She paused, made eye contact with Harry, winked. "Soon." And then Draco was following her out of the dining room and out of the house, and Hermione was left sitting in the dining room, wondering why there was a fire low in her belly and a pulsing in her veins and why, when she closed her eyes, there were an intense pair of silver ones staring back down at her.


	7. Double Dates

"Honestly, I don't know how you do it." Hermione admitted to Ginny. They were sitting together on the patio of a new restaurant that had opened up where Florean Fortescue's had once been. It was a chic little place that made a delicious brunch and an even better mimosa. She hadn't had much time with her friend lately, so when Ginny had suggested meeting up that weekend, Hermione had jumped at the chance. The summer sun was now in full force and it was lovely to sit outside and feel her skin warm under its rays. Ginny was wearing an appropriately large hat to block that same sun.

"No. He's-" Ginny paused, thinking over what she was saying as she swirled her drink around and then took a rather large sip. "He's not quite what I was expecting."

Hermione gaped over at her friend. "What do you mean? He's _Draco Malfoy_. Captain of the Inquisitorial Squad! Son of a Death Eater-" she paused, frowning. "An actual Death Eater."

Ginny shrugged. "I'm not saying he's pleasant or anything, but he isn't deadly or terrifying. He's a right prick, and I didn't realize anyone could actually survive with the amount of alcohol he drinks. We don't exactly spend much time together... That house is so big you could go weeks without seeing anyone. His mother nods at me, if we happen to pass each other. Which, I suppose, is something."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes well, she lied to Voldemort. Saved Harry's life. Wouldn't really make sense for her to, I don't know, murder you at this point."

Ginny smirked. "I was worried, actually. I wouldn't think I'm exactly a suitable wife for her precious _Draco_." She cooed out his name and then shuddered, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh in response. It had been more than a month now, and it was good to see that her friend could finally approach this with some humour. That was probably only because Ginny had gotten laid not that long ago.

"Still, I'm so sorry that it ended up like this, Gin. It's just not fair."

"No," Ginny agreed. "It isn't. But, well. It isn't all bad?" Hermione raised a brow at the redhead, waiting for her to continue. Ginny shrugged. "Well, we're married, right? So that means I got access to the vault." She paused, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is quite pleased with their new investor. George can do a lot with three hundred and fifty galleons."

Hermione choked on her mimosa. "Ginny!" She said with a bit of a gasp as she coughed on her drink. "That's… that's more than a thousand pounds!"

Ginny smirked triumphantly. "And mum and dad are going to love their anniversary present. All-expenses-paid trip to Romania to see Charlie. Fancy hotel room and bottles of champagne delivered to their door and everything."

"And you're saying that he doesn't care?"

"Hermione, they have so much money, I highly doubt he would even notice. And besides, I technically earned it."

"You don't mean…?" Hermione cringed, thinking of all the things someone could do to earn that much money in such a short period of time.

"Oh god no!" Ginny swallowed a gulp of mimosa and shook her head. "Absolutely not. We play one-on-one Quidditch. Not my fault he keeps losing. Obviously I'm going to use my victories any way that I can."

"You play Quidditch together?"

"Mmm. He seems to think one day he'll beat me, just because he was the Slytherin Seeker and I was only ever Chaser on the team. But I've been training - our Seeker is looking like she's stepping out on maternity leave for a bit, and, well. I have a pretty good shot at replacing her."

Hermione smiled at her friend. "That's really great, Gin."

Ginny nodded, ears flushing pink. "So, Harry and I were talking."

This couldn't be good. Hermione nibbled at her scone and waited for the inevitable.

"We were thinking of doing a, um, double date. Picnic, swimming, a whole day of summer activities." Ginny batted her eyelashes at her friend. "It would… well. It means spending the day with the ferret," Ginny pulled a face. "But, you can pretty much ignore him, I'm sure he'll do the same to you. Bring a book if you want."

Hermione sighed and tried not to cringe at Ginny's ferret comment - that particular argument was still fresh in her mind. The last thing she wanted to do with a perfectly good summer day was waste it with the blonde git, but Ginny was so happy after seeing Harry. And Hermione still felt really quite terrible about ruining her friend's future marriage, which was why she found herself nodding. "Yeah. I suppose if I bring a book it'll be alright." She paused then. "Where?"

Ginny winced. "Well, the grounds at the Manor are really beautiful. We won't go anywhere near the house, I promise. Just the backyard. They have this gorgeous pond and peacocks just wandering around, can you imagine?"

Hermione took three deep breaths before she responded, remembering the book she had read on 'self-calming techniques'. _Accio, bombarda, cave inimicum, descendo_ \- the book had said that listing off things in a category alphabetically was a good method to reduce panic. Finally she opened her eyes and found Ginny watching her with concern. "Nowhere near the house." She confirmed and her friend, relieved, nodded.

* * *

It was a beautiful day, at least.

Hermione had agreed to the picnic lunch hoping that it would pour rain on the day they had chosen and the whole thing would be called off. Unfortunately, the sun was shining and the air was warm and now she was standing on the Malfoy's back lawn, watching as Ginny spread out a picnic blanket on the ground and then dropped down, patting the seat next to her for Harry to sit in.

This left Hermione, in a pale yellow sundress, awkwardly positioned on the blanket next to Draco Malfoy, who looked casual. In fact, she didn't even know the man knew what khakis were, let alone owned a pair and was wearing them. But then again, robes weren't exactly practical for picnic lunches and outside activities.

Ginny and Harry were already lost in mumbled conversation and so Hermione was forced to pick at her food in silence, enjoying the cheese spread and wine. It was better than speaking to Malfoy, of all people.

He seemed to have different ideas.

"So, Granger. What poor, impoverished species are you trying to help out these days?" He was lounged out, looking far too comfortable sitting so close to the ground, wine stem between his long fingers and his brow raised as he watched her fidget with her lunch. "Merpeople, perhaps? Trying to convince them to stop eating fish? Or maybe it's the centaurs this week - perhaps their mating habits are just a little too violent for you? Did you know that they hold down their-"

Hermione nearly choked on her mouthful of wine and she snapped her head around to glare at him, only to find him watching her with mild disinterest on his face, but something more in his eyes. "Honestly, Malfoy. In what world is that polite lunch conversation?" She couldn't help but snap back, shifting again. She really hadn't thought they would be having an actual picnic, or she would have worn shorts.

Draco shrugged. "Well, it's your job, isn't it? Certainly there has to be some excitement to it. I figured that centaurs mating habits were the most interesting things you dealt with. God forbid we have to sit here and speak about trolls or ghouls or some equally blasé species of animal."

Hermione rolled her eyes and picked up another piece of cheese, doing her best to give Harry and Ginny, who were practically sitting on each other, some privacy in their conversation. "Do you think that's all I talk about, Malfoy?" She asked.

"Well I didn't see you starting up a conversation." He drawled, taking a rather large sip of wine.

"Did you ever think I just didn't want to speak to you?" Hermione shook her head and shifted on her legs again, smoothing out her skirt around her and hoping it wasn't obvious how uncomfortable she was.

Thankfully, Draco did not respond, and they ate the rest of their lunch in relative silence, other than the whispers and occasional laughter from Harry and Ginny.

* * *

After they had finished the lunch and the two bottles of wine that Draco had carried down from the manor, Ginny suggested a game of pick up Quidditch. Seeing as Hermione refused to participate, the plan was a three player Seekers only game - whoever caught the snitch first won. Harry may have been the best when they were at school, but Ginny practised relentlessly and Draco was gambling on the couple distracting each other and giving him an opportunity.

They left Hermione to her picnic blanket as Draco summoned three brooms from the shed near the house and then they took off into the air, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. As nice as it was to give her friends the opportunity to spend some time together, Malfoy was exhausting. She felt tense in his presence. At first she wondered if it were fear - was she bracing herself for the impact of torture or a drawled 'mudblood'? But, then. He hadn't called her that since before the final battle. And barely in their sixth year. And he wasn't his aunt, and he didn't send her spiraling into panic attacks. Plus there was the small fact of his strange apology, of his declaration that she was better than him.

Hermione still hadn't figured out what that meant.

Still, she took all the peaceful silence that she could get, and she spread her legs out in front of her on the blanket, digging a book out of her purse. Summers in the Isles did not last nearly as long as she would have liked, so she was determined to make the most of a forced afternoon off work and soak up the August sun, getting lost in the tattered paperback in her hands.

In fact, she got so lost that she didn't hear someone walking up to the blanket, or notice when another body joined her on the ground. It was only when she felt warm breath on the side of her neck that she tensed.

"' _There is_ ,'" he began, and Hermione realized it was Malfoy who was now sitting beside her, looking over her shoulder and reading from the book she was holding. "' _I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome_.'" Draco paused and Hermione couldn't help herself but fill in the next line of the book.

"' _And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody._ '" She quoted back.

"' _And yours is to willfully misunderstand them_.'"

Hermione realized at that moment exactly what was happening and she jerked her body away from him, turning then so she could look at his face. He was smirking over at her, amusement dancing across his features.

"What on earth are you reading, Granger?"

Hermione frowned, feeling quite put on the spot, as she glanced down at the book in her hands. "Quite a famous muggle novel. I'm sure you've never heard of it, nor would you care to."

Before she had time to react, Draco had reached over and plucked the book from her fingertips, looking over it's ratty state, and glancing at the cover. He huffed out a small sound of amusement and opened the first page, clearly his throat softly. " _'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife_.'" Draco couldn't contain the laugh as he read, and Hermione found herself thinking that she had never actually considered the fact that he _could_ laugh so genuinely. "I wouldn't have taken you for someone who reads romance novels, Granger."

Hermione felt her face heating up and she snatched the book back from him, smoothing her hand over it carefully. It was a copy that she had owned for a long time, and she had lost track of how many times she read it. "It's a classic, Malfoy. Far more than a romance novel. Besides, the author is a _muggle_. I doubt you would sully yourself with literature written by such an inferior group of people."

If she had known him better, she may have recognized that his smirk had shifted, and he now had the look on his face that he got when told that he could not or should not do something. "' _Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great plith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action_.'"

Luckily, Hermione was not trying to eat anything at that moment, for she was sure if she had been she would have choked. "I," she began, pausing, trying to reconcile this vision of Malfoy spread out on a picnic blanket in the summer sun and quoting Hamlet at her with the boy who spat slurs at her in school and laughed when she tripped on her own feet.

With this, the blonde tossed his head back and laughed for the second time that afternoon, and she continued to stare at him, breathless and lost in her own confusion.

"What exactly do you think I've done with myself for the past two years, Granger?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "Sat around with my cronies, laughed about everyone who we had lost, the things we gave up? Gallivanted across the continent while we pretended nothing had ever happened, that we had not suffered too? _'The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind._ "

Hermione shook her head, but it was true that she had not once thought of Malfoy as a man with hobbies that were not more-or-less evil. "So instead you read Nietzsche? Hamlet?" She asked.

"And others, though I found that something in me resonated with that particular soliloquy. Rather on the nose, wouldn't you agree?"

Hermione shook her head to try and get over the fact that she was having a discussion about Shakespeare with her once sworn enemy. "I suppose." She agreed. "You fancy yourself as Hamlet, then?"

Draco shrugged again, a smooth motion of his thin shoulders. "You'd be wrong if you said we had no similarities."

Before Hermione had a chance to ponder this, she heard laughter from above, and Ginny and Harry landed a few steps away from them, stumbling over each other as they slid off their brooms, laughing. Ginny held the snitch triumphantly, and Harry was shaking his head at her through the laughter.

"That move would never fly in a legal game." He was saying, and Ginny was carefully adjusting her t-shirt.

"Yes, well. Why be given such useful… assets, if I'm never allowed to use them?"

Harry glanced over at Hermione and Draco, sitting on the blanket and looking up at them. "Realized you couldn't keep up, Malfoy?"

"Decided I'd rather not watch as the two of you figured out how to shag each other thirty feet off the ground."

Harry was trying to stutter out a response but Ginny waved her hand at him. "Just because you lack the dexterity, Malfoy, doesn't mean the rest of us do."

Hermione could, once again, feel her face heating and she shook her head. "Alright, yes, we understand." She looked over to see Draco smirking at her and she turned back to her friends, waiting to see if she could go home now, or if they had other shenanigans planned for the day.

Draco glanced down at his wristwatch and frowned. "Well, as lovely as this afternoon has been," he said, with no small amount of sarcasm. Harry snickered slightly and Draco pretended not to hear him. "I have a meeting I have to get to." The blonde man stood and brushed off his trousers, looking between the three Gryffindors. With a nod to Hermione, he left the three of them sitting on the grass and headed back to the house.

That night, after Hermione and Harry had returned to Grimmauld Place, as Hermione lay in bed reading, she couldn't help but hear his smooth low voice in her head. It was infuriating, she decided, how he was able to bother her even when she was nowhere near him. Giving up on the book and calling it a night, Hermione snuggled down into her covers and flicked her wand to turn off the light, stashing it under her pillow when she was done. Closing her eyes to the darkness, she fell asleep with the image of Draco's blonde hair glinting in the sunlight, and the sight of the long expanse of his neck as he tossed his head back and laughed.

* * *

The next few months passed similarly. As summer faded into fall, Hermione continued to throw herself into her work and continued to get nowhere. Ginny did end up getting the Seeker spot on the Harpies, and with it a huge influx of practices. This meant that, thankfully, their double dates more or less slowed to a halt. Hermione was absolutely not complaining. Not really. She was mostly just ignoring the fact that she kept wondering what other muggle literature Malfoy had read, what other hobbies he had picked up to fill his time after the war.

Harry was rather despondent at the lack of events, though, and finally Hermione had _floo_ 'd Ginny and they made a plan to go out for dinner, to a fancy restaurant in muggle London. While that meant that Ginny and Harry wouldn't really have an opportunity to sneak off, scheduling much more time than a few hours was proving nearly impossible. Ginny promised that it would slow down soon, once her coach decided she didn't need to be in intensive practices anymore.

Hermione and Harry arrived at the restaurant just a little late, due to Hermione deciding to change at the last minute, worried that she wasn't fancy enough when she realized Harry was wearing a full suit. It had been the right decision, in the end, to change into a slightly more fancy dress. Even though she realized, as they sat down in the booth across from Draco and Ginny, that she had chosen a deep green dress and Draco was looking at her quite peculiarly.

The meal was delicious, which didn't come as a surprise - it was the type of restaurant with no prices on the menu and sparkling water on all the tables. Apparently Draco had picked the restaurant and Hermione did her best not to show that the fact startled her. Harry had made a remark about Draco's knowledge of muggle London, and Draco had sniped back a quote about preferring not to have spit in his food, and the table collectively moved on.

Before dessert, Ginny slipped away to the bathroom, and only a few minutes later Harry did as well. Hermione tried not to think about it. But she couldn't stop thinking about what the blonde had said.

"Malfoy?" She questioned, and he looked up from the whiskey glass in his hands. "Do people actually, uh, spit in your meals?"

Draco did that thing with his shoulder that Hermione was starting to recognize as him feigning indifference while actually having quite a few thoughts on the topic. "I've had it happen, yes."

"In Diagon Alley?" She asked, almost incredulous.

"Yes, Granger. Not everyone is a perfect war heroine like you. Some of us, as I'm sure you remember, were on the wrong side."

Hermione sighed and brushed this comment off with a wave of her hand. "You were acquitted." She stated. "And, besides, it's been more than two years now. And you're married to a _Weasley_."

Draco raised a well-manicured brow at her. "And that changes things how?"

"Well. It just isn't, it's not right! That they'd let you into their establishment and then bring you food that's been spit in. They should really have all moved on by now."

"In your world." Draco said, looking pointedly at her. "In the world where everyone is good or they're evil, and the bad guys have all gone to jail. That makes those of us who are not currently rotting or dying in Azkaban - what, exactly, in your books? Because to much of the general wizarding populace, we are scum. We are people who avoided the punishments we so rightly deserve, and they make it their goal to ensure everything they do reminds us of the fact."

Hermione clenched her hand into a fist, telling herself that the only reason this was bothering her at all was because no one deserved that kind of treatment. She was still thinking about exactly what could be done about this when Harry and Ginny returned to the table, Ginny's hair tousled and Harry with a smidge of lipstick on his neck.

"At least the stalls here are nice and large," Draco drawled, and Ginny leaned over to smack his arm. Harry, for his part, blushed, and Hermione wondered just when Draco's snarky comments became more about teasing in good fun than pointed attacks.

Once again, as she fell asleep she found herself thinking of the way Draco had looked. Self assured and confident on the outside, but he kept his shoulders held in a perfectly straight line, his entire body posed to hide the fact that while the worst of the war was long over he was still enduring and paying reparations for his sins.

* * *

 **A/N:** Quotes from the chapter are from the wonderful Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ , Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ , and Friedrich Nietzsche.


	8. Reunion

Nearly six months had gone by since the marriage law had been passed. As usual, Dumbledore's Army was getting together for their annual Halloween party. It had started the year Voldemort had been defeated. Hermione and Ron knew how difficult Halloween was for Harry, and they had figured one of the best ways to cheer him up would be to invite all of his friends over and get smashingly drunk. Amazingly, it had worked, and they'd done it the next year too.

As always, the party was at Grimmauld Place, and Hermione spent most of the day on Halloween rushing around, ensuring the house was in order. Kreacher followed her throughout the townhouse, trying to clean areas before she got to them, and by dinner time the whole house was shining from top to bottom. She ate with Harry in relative silence, and they toasted their wine to his parents and she kissed the top of his head when she left the table, reminding him quietly that she was his family now.

Ron and Hannah were the first to arrive. Ron added a bottle of gin to the table that they usually had out for partygoers to share their alcohol on, and nodded in appreciation at the much-improved state of the living room. Hannah gave both Harry and Hermione large hugs when they entered, carrying a tray of cookies that looked (and smelled) homemade. As they moved into the living room, Hannah took Ron's hand to pull him towards the table where the other snacks and punch had been set out, and Hermione spotted the telltale flush to Ron's ears from across the room.

Neville Longbottom arrived next, looking awkward as he stood by himself in the doorway, having apparated rather than floo'd to the party. Harry waved him in and Hermione moved over to speak to him.

"Where's -" she paused, realizing something. "Neville, who did you end marrying?"

Neville sighed, dropping his head, and mumbled something that Hermione didn't hear. When she said as much, he sighed again. "Lavender."

Hermione gaped at him, looking back at Harry to see if he heard, but he was too busy speaking to Ron and Hannah.

"Brown? Lavender Brown?"

"Yeah. It's a bit, um, weird, isn't it? We don't even… she doesn't think. Well, it's been awkward."

Hermione nodded again. "Yeah, I can imagine. I had to live with her for six years."

Neville managed a small laugh at this and Hermione was glad to see him smiling a bit. "Yeah. She said she'd be here." He added, looking around to see if his wife had turned up, and then awkwardly twisted the band around his finger as he spotted Hannah across the room.

They ended up in a discussion about Hogwarts, and it wasn't long before Lavender stepped through the fireplace and into the living room, brushing imaginary soot off of her shoulder. She was beautiful, almost more so with the thick scars that marred her face and neck. Lavender managed a smile at Ron, Hannah, and Harry, a nod at Neville and Hermione, and then headed straight for the alcohol.

Before Hermione or Neville had a chance to say anything to the woman, the fireplace roared to life again and George and Win tumbled out, laughing as they tripped over each other. "I told you we should have gone separately, you doofus!" Win was saying, shoving at George's arm.

"Yeah well, I was worried you'd fall over!" By now the two were sitting on the ground in a crumpled heap, and George's faux concern had Win laughing even more. Harry headed over to help them up, and Hermione went to the door, having heard the bell.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were outside. They followed her in and promptly dumped an armful of alcohol-filled bottles onto the table. Hermione grinned at them both, getting caught up in a story about Dean's job with goblin relations, and then she noticed that they were wearing matching wedding bands and gasped.

"You're married?" She asked, grabbing one of Seamus' hands to examine the understated gold band with an engraving in a language she did not understand.

Seamus flushed and looked over at Dean. "Yeah. Sorry we didn't invite anyone, it all happened rather quick, see. Didn't want the Ministry to realize they'd paired up two blokes and revoke our partnership, so we got married 'bout an hour after we found out."

Hermione grinned at them both. "That's so wonderful. You must have slipped past their spell. But, what'll you do when they want to see children?"

It was Dean who grinned this time. "Oh. That's all taken care of. Actually, we'd already been looking into it, before all this legal nonsense. Thought it was just good fortune that the Ministry was developing all these new methods of," he paused and shook his head. "Anyways. They've created this spell, brilliant really, where you can basically fertilize an egg with DNA from two different people and more or less guarantee that the egg will only really feature their DNA, effectively having a child who's not actually much related to the surrogate."

Seamus nodded. "Bit confusing to explain to a load of wizards who never had to take a science class. Either way, someone somewhere was thinking of same sex couples when they came up with the spell, and we're not complaining."

Hermione was nodding along, fascinated. She had done quite a lot of reading over her summers, and while her biology knowledge was certainly not as high as some of her other areas of interest, it was still a fascinating subject.

"So you found a surrogate?" She clarified, and at this both Dean and Seamus grinned as they exchanged looks.

"Yup."

"She's brill, really."

"She'll be here any minute."

"Oh!" Hermione realized. She was one of Dumbledore's Army. Who could it be then?

It didn't take long for them to find out. Seamus had wandered off to make drinks for himself and Dean, topping up Hermione's as well, and they were back to the subject of wizard-goblin relations when someone else stepped out of the floo.

Luna Lovegood now stood in the room, her long blonde hair braided in various places with feathers and other strange items tucked into it. Hermione heard Hannah's gasp before she turned, and when she did so she reacted the same. Luna was standing with a hand resting protectively on her rather large belly, her eyes twinkling and her skin glowing as she scanned the room.

Before Luna could step forward, another person came through the fireplace and placed a hand with dark green fingernails and a glittering wedding band protectively on Luna's shoulder, though it looked like she was shielding herself just as much as she was supporting her wife. The newcomer looked around at the lot of them and drew her eyebrows tight together, flicking her short hair away from her face. "What are you all looking at?" She snapped, and Luna turned her head, smile soft and loving.

"Don't worry. They're just checking to make sure you're not about to kill them." And Hermione watched in relative shock as Luna Lovegood leaned forwards and pressed the sweetest kiss to Pansy Parkinson's cheek.

Eventually, everyone managed to turn away, and Luna floated over to Hermione, who was now standing with Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Lavender. The present Weasleys, Win, Hannah, and Harry had gotten onto the topic of the Quidditch World Cup and even the revelation of Luna's pregnancy wasn't enough to pull them away from it.

"Hello." Luna said, voice light as she smoothed her hand over her stomach and twined her fingers in with Pansy's. Pansy, who looked incredibly uncomfortable, glanced over to Harry more than once, as if waiting to be kicked out.

"Luna!" Dean and Seamus said together, each leaning forward to press a kiss to her cheeks, and then down to her belly as well. Dean also leaned over to give Pansy a quick hug and Hermione tried not to choke on her butterbeer.

Lavender was not doing as well and she shook her head, rubbing at her eyes as if it would all go away. "Wait, I'm sorry. I missed something major here. Luna, you're… you're pregnant!"

Luna nodded. "Yes, quite. Twenty one weeks and three days, to be precise."

"But," Lavender began, shaking her head again. "You're here with… her?"

"Hearts are wild," Luna began, and moved a hand over to brush at Pansy's ribs. "That's why ribs are cages." Grinning up at Pansy, who was a good few inches taller than Luna, more so with the heels she was wearing, Luna then looked back at her friends. "This is Pansy." She introduced, simply. "Pansy, this is Neville, Lavender, and Hermione."

"We know who she _is_ Luna." Lavender hissed, looking at Dean and Seamus and then Hermione, seeing if anyone was on her side. "She's a _Slytherin_! She tried to hand over Harry to Voldemort! And, how did you even end up, I mean, this whole law is about - well, I guess you've got that part. But still. It doesn't make any sense!"

Pansy cleared her throat, letting go of Luna's hand to wrap a protective arm around her partner's shoulders, her gaze now steely. She suddenly looked more like the bitter girl Hermione remembered from school. "I'll remind you all that he handed himself over the very same night. One life for thousands of us, and besides, he didn't even die-" Luna lifted a hand to run over Pansy's face and the girl softened, slightly. "I'd appreciate it if you did not speak about me as though I was not standing right next to you."

Lavender had the grace to blush slightly, but she was shaking her head again and about to say something even more hurtful when Hermione cut in. "Dean, is Luna your surrogate, then? That's lovely." She looked over to Luna and smiled, but the blonde was still looking up at Pansy and didn't notice.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Luna spoke, her free hand smoothing circles over her stomach. "It just worked out perfectly. Dean and Seamus had already asked me to be involved, before the law. And then St. Mungo's was able to give me twins. One for Dean and Seamus, and one for Pansy and I. They'll be sisters." She sighed, blissful. "Isn't it lovely?"

Neville coughed now, on his own drink. "That's," he paused, seeing the look of utter disdain Pansy was shooting him, and rethought his sentence. "That's really great, Luna, Pansy." He paused, looking to his other friends. "Congrats to you two as well, then."

Luna nodded and Pansy shifted again, trying not to look as uncomfortable as she was surely feeling.

Once more, the fire roared to life and this time it was Ginny Weasley stepping out, tucking strands of red hair back behind her ears and moving directly to Harry to wrap her arms around him. Draco followed only a few seconds later, holding an expensive bottle of wine and looking very out of place in his nice suit. He noticed Pansy, and Hermione watched as his shoulders dropped slightly, tension releasing when he realized he wasn't the only Slytherin, and he moved in the direction of their group.

By the time Draco had reached them, Neville had moved away to talk to Ron and Win, and Seamus was in an animated conversation with Luna that sounded like it was about prenatal vitamins, Dean listening with amusement beside him. Harry and Ginny had slipped out of the room and either no one had noticed, or they all had the good sense not to comment on the fact. Draco went straight for Pansy and the Slytherins embraced, looking for a moment as if they might cling to each other like they were a lifeboat, but they broke away and Pansy passed Draco a glass, which he immediately filled with wine.

"Malfoy." Hermione greeted, cordially, and he finally seemed to notice that she was there.

"Granger. How are the trolls treating you this week?"

Hermione had decided she wasn't going to let him ruffle her feathers, and she finished off her glass, holding it out to him to refill with wine, which he did without much hesitation.

"I'm not sure, I haven't see you in over a month."

Pansy choked on her glass of water and reached a hand out to grab Draco's, to prevent him from hexing the girl, but instead Draco laughed, loud and boisterous, drawing strange looks from Neville and Ron.

"Very good, Granger." He said, in the deep drawl that she thought of now when she read.

"How about you, Malfoy? Win any Quidditch games lately?"

Once again he flashed a strange look at her. He wasn't smirking and she wasn't sure what to do with the expression on his face. In fact, it seemed rather like a smile, and that was throwing her off more than she figured it should be.

"Nope. Not a single one."

* * *

The party had gone quite well, and slowly the couples had drifted out. Luna and Pansy had been the first to leave, citing swollen feet (though Hermione suspected it was just as much to do with the fact that Ron kept glaring at Pansy and Harry was doing his best to pretend she just didn't exist at all. Very mature for the both of them).

As George and Win headed through the fireplace, waving goodbye through the smoke, Hermione looked around and realized that nearly everyone was gone.

Nearly everyone except for Draco and Ginny, of course. Ginny and Harry had come back down to the party and been mostly sociable for a good chunk in the middle there, but as the guests started to disappear, they too had slipped upstairs again and now Hermione was sitting in the living room with Draco Malfoy as company.

Luckily, they were both rather drunk. Hermione now lay slightly sprawled on the comfortable sofa with her head propped up on the armrest, and Draco sat across from her in the comfy armchair that she spent most of her time in. Draco had gone silent, swishing his firewhiskey around in his glass, and looking at Hermione as though she were an interesting specimen worth studying.

"Why d'you think they didn' end up paired together?" He asked, words slurring together, after a long period of silence. Hermione glanced up from her own wine and frowned, shifting in the seat to get more comfortable.

"'M'not sure." She admitted, glancing up to the ceiling and trying not to think too much about it. "Kingsley said somethin' 'bout," she paused, searching back through her foggy brain to try and remember what that conversation had been like. "S'not about who we are now, not really. The spell can't, doesn't know," she paused, taking a large gulp of wine. "Doesn't know all the stuff the world's taught us. Just who we are, when s'all gone."

Draco hummed in response, watching her speak and taking another sip of his own drink. "I s'pose… she's feisty, smart," he frowned, and then spoke quickly. "All the things I want. Not afraid to be herself, fight back. But, she's not," Draco shook his head. "Not right for me. An', her and Potter sure seem to be pretty, uh,"

"Enamored?" Hermione supplied.

"Horny." He said, and it was Hermione's turn to laugh, though she flushed a little too.

"Yeah. They… deserve to be happy though. Af'er everything."

"Mmm." Draco agreed, and they lapsed into silence, though it drew out comfortably between them.

"What about you?" It had been so long since their conversation ended that Hermione was caught off guard when Draco spoke again.

"Me?" She asked, shifting her body leaning towards him a little.

"Yeah. What d'you want? Obviously not Potter. To marry. If you could've chosen."

Hermione frowned, thinking it over. "Harry's great," she began. "But, he's not," she squirmed, trying to think about what she wanted, what would be her ideal. "We just don't… we're not really interested in the same things. But he's caring, and loyal, those are good things." Draco raised a brow at her, as if that wasn't enough. She knew it wasn't. "He's not very sure of himself. Always worried he's gonna do the wrong thing." She blurted it out all at once and felt her cheeks darken and burn, but she'd started now and couldn't seem to stop. "We don't argue, ever. But it's too… safe. He'd never… there's no…"

Draco cut in, before she could even mentally finish her sentence. "Fire."

Hermione sighed, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. "Yeah."

Once more, the silence stretched, and Hermione found herself starting to slip closer to sleep. Her breathing was evening out and she could only distantly hear the crackle of the fire that filled the room. She didn't move when fingertips brushed over her cheek, didn't force her eyes to open against the weight of the wine in her system and the heat of the room. But she heard, just barely, as a soft voice above her whispered, "Problem with fire is you always seem to get burned."

When she woke in the morning with a crick in her neck and a pounding headache, it took her a few moments to figure out why she wasn't in her bed. She glanced over across the room and there, in the armchair across from her, was a fast asleep Draco Malfoy, looking distinctly uncomfortable. His features were peaceful though, and with the way the early morning light hit his skin Hermione had the clear thought that he was stunning. Alarmingly beautiful, when he let the mask that he usually wore down.

Hermione hadn't meant to fall back asleep on the couch, body rolled to face him, so that he was the last thing she saw before sleep took her again. When she opened her eyes later that day he was gone, and she wondered if it had been a dream. But then, her mind had never painted him as beautiful, not like that. Sharp maybe, angular and strong and not unattractive. But beautiful was new, and not something she thought she would have been able to imagine in her hungover state. Now she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop.


	9. Boundaries

By mid-November, Ginny's Quidditch practices were finally starting to scale back to a more normal frequency. While this was wonderful in theory, it also meant that Harry had once again began to speak of dinner parties, and Hermione - rather than throw her energy in convincing him they shouldn't happen at all - spent a great deal of time arguing about location and whether or not Kreacher was going to be cooking this time.

Harry won on the food preparation, but their dinner party with the Malfoys would be taking place once more at Grimmauld Place. Neither of them had got exactly what they wanted, so she considered it a fair compromise. Harry had wanted to go to the manor if only to see Ginny's room, which she had mentioned had a bathtub large enough to swim in, but he also recognized that his own wife wasn't quite ready to spend any amount of time inside the place.

When the doorbell rang on a cold November evening, Hermione ensured she was the first one to the door, just so that Harry and Ginny wouldn't be so all over each other that they'd leave it open and freeze the whole house. At least, that's what she told herself as she pulled the door open and gave Ginny a quick hug, ushering them both into the dining room and accepting the bottle of red wine that Draco was holding. Harry was down the stairs not a moment later and Hermione rolled her eyes as the couple wrapped themselves together as if they would die without touching each other.

She had never felt passion like that. But then again, who was she to deny them the few moments they had together these days?

By the time they were all seated at the table, no one had said anything to each other.

"Let me guess," Draco began, taking a sip of his wine as they began on the appetizer. "This week - dragons' rights. How dare they be chained up and kept from torching villages are eating goats?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, rather used to him now. "Alas, no. The dragons will have to handle themselves a bit for now. Actually," she paused, looking to Harry and Ginny who appeared to be listening but were caught up looking at each other. "While I wait for the Wizengamot to consider my _third_ proposal to subsidize the cost of monthly wolfsbane, I've been doing some reading."

Draco snorted into his soup. "How different for you."

"Oh, don't be an ass." She shot back. "No, I've actually been looking back at the last time they passed this marriage law. It was in the 1700s, actually. I've been trying to figure out how they had ended it back then."

This caught everyone's attention and she felt three heads spin to look at her.

"And?" She heard Ginny say, hopeful.

Hermione sighed. "I can't find anything. All I've got in the Ministry records is a small note that the law was enacted, and another note six years later saying that it had been revoked. Nothing in the middle. Nothing about the results, about whether or not people had to fight for it to be dissolved. Nothing, even, about whether or not it really worked. I started looking for the marriage licenses for the time after the law was enacted; the problem is that divorce was practically nonexistent, so even if people had drifted apart after the law and found other spouses there's no real way to tell."

It was Harry's turn to sigh. "Well, at least you tried."

Hermione nodded. She wasn't done yet, far from it. She'd been looking at this problem from different angles ever since this whole thing had started just about seven months ago. Every road was turning up to be a dead end, but she just knew that eventually she'd figure it out.

Conversation shifted back to more neutral ground for the rest of dinner and dessert. As they finished up their pies, Hermione watched as Harry and Ginny exchanged looks and then, glancing back at her and Draco, left the room together quickly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, the two of them." He murmured, shaking his head. "Acting like two weeks without a shag is killing them. When the rest of us haven't gotten anything for the past, what, seven months?"

Hermione coughed on the mouthful of wine she was swallowing and shook her head. "Really don't need to know about your sex life, Malfoy."

He smirked, looking over at her. "Lack of."

"Ugh." Hermione retorted, shaking her head. She was just thinking about moving them into the living room, but had a better idea. "Come on, they're going to be a while. I want to show you something."

* * *

Draco complained for the entire three flights of stairs, worrying about breaking his neck and spilling his wine. He let out an indignant noise as they entered the attic. It was much more clean and open than it had been when Hermione had first moved in, but it still wasn't exactly the nicest room in the house.

"Taking me up here to murder me, Granger?" He asked, though it felt more like he was teasing her than actually worried.

"Do you have an ounce of patience?" She murmured back, feeling her hand over the back door. Just as Draco was retorting that he didn't _need_ patience, her hand brushed the latch and she let out an 'ah-ha!' and pulled the door open.

Instead of a cold winter breeze, she was met with that same fresh summer air that she had been the first time she had opened the door. Hermione had spent nearly a week figuring out the best way to place a permanent environment charm over the rooftop garden, and as she stepped out into the air she was glad for it. Grimmauld Place, for all the work she'd done to it, still sometimes felt suffocating. Hermione had decided she just couldn't give up her rooftop solace and figured out a way to make it last year round.

Stepping out, she swished her wand and small lights and candles flickered to life around the garden. Then she turned, and watched as Draco climbed out and looked around, noticing how his mask had fallen once more and catching a glimpse of the breathtakingly beautiful man she had seen, drunk on Halloween.

He was clearly uncertain of what to say as he moved further into the garden, coming to stand next to her. "I never would have guessed this was up here," said Draco. Hermione nodded in response.

"Yeah. I figured that someone, once, needed a place to get away. It was all dead when I found it, first, but. Flowers are very… calming" She shrugged and looked around to the flowers that blossomed in their beds, roses climbing up their trellises. "That they can grow in such harsh conditions, and make even the most dismal of places seem, well, beautiful. Even planting them, feeling the dirt under your fingernails and watching as you create life, it's… relaxing."

She drank from her wine glass as she watched him walk around the garden, crouching down occasionally to get a better look at some of the plants, running his fingers over the more unique varieties of flowers she had planted.

Hermione watched the way he crouched in front of a bed of moonflowers and when he began to speak she almost missed it, so caught up in trying to figure out the walking contradiction of Draco Malfoy.

"' _This bud of love_ ,'" he mumbled, and her heart caught in her throat as he spoke. "' _By summer's ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet._ '"

Hermione couldn't help it, she found herself licking her lips. He stood quickly, and she barely had a chance to take a breath before he was standing in front of her again, this time closer than before. He was looking down into her eyes, curiosity in his wrinkled brow, and Hermione forced herself to exhale.

Without thinking it through, she found herself speaking. "' _Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?_ '"

The moment seemed to hang in the air around them and Hermione felt soft fingers on her chin. He was so pale, he seemed to nearly glow in the candlelit balcony. A strand of his white-blonde hair had fallen in front of his eyes. She wondered at the contrast they would make; Draco fairer than the moonlight and her as dark as the night, his pale hands on her dark skin. Time had slowed and she felt her heart pounding in her chest.

Before, it seemed, either of them could fully think through their next actions, Draco was leaning down and closing the gap between them. His lips brushed against hers, softly and tentatively. He seemed almost ready to pull back, but Hermione could not help but reach out and wrap her fingers around the back of his neck. With the new understanding that she would not hex him for trying, Draco pushed forward further and kissed her for real.

If it was fire that she was looking for, Hermione realized, she had found it here. Her skin tingled where his fingertips touched and his lips were warm and soft under her own, and she found herself wanting to press her entire body against his, to meld her chest to his and feel his own heart pounding under his skin. She longed to twist her fingers in his smooth hair and feel his large hands against her hips.

Suddenly, like cold water being tossed over her, Hermione found her thoughts catching up to the moment and she realized what was happening. Unable to stop herself, she gasped slightly against him and stepped back, letting go of his neck and watching as his hand hung in the air where her chin had once been. She took a deep steadying breath, looking at him through the darkness, her entire body humming underneath her skin.

Draco looked less shocked, but as soon as he realized she had stepped away he schooled his face back into its blank state of nothingness, pulling his shoulders back and dropping his hand from the air.

They stood, staring at one another in the darkness. Hermione was waiting for him to say something, debating about whether she should apologize, or run, or move back into his space. He appeared to be fighting something, clenching his jaw and breathing heavily. He reached for his drink, finishing off his half-full wine glass in a single swallow. She watched the way his adam's apple bobbed and found herself wetting her lips once more in response. Before either had a chance to decide if they had done the wrong thing, Hermione registered voices. Harry's voice, specifically, calling out her name.

Hermione stepped back further, unable to break her eyes away from his. She had the feeling that when she turned away from this moment it would shatter. She wasn't sure if she wanted that.

Draco raised a brow at her, in a way that she may have once called mocking but now considered more like a question. She blinked, forcing herself to not acknowledge whatever it was that was bubbling up in her chest, and spun away from him, stepping back into the house.

"Be right there, Harry!" She called, and the moment broke around them.

* * *

"Hermione?"

Hermione was leaving the bathroom on the third floor, wringing water out of her bushy hair and thinking about the amount of work she was planning on getting done that day. Harry startled her out of her thoughts and she paused in the doorway to her bedroom, turning to glance at him. "Hmm?"

Harry fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the the other, and then he sighed as if steeling himself. "Can we chat?"

Hermione frowned, but nodded, pulling her hair into a bun on the back of her head to deal with later and following him into his room. She sat down on the armchair that he had set up near the fireplace and he leaned against the wall, watching her.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, bluntly; Hermione found her frown deepening.

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Hermione was vindicated in, at least, how uncomfortable Harry was starting to look.

"I've just. Ginny and I were talking about it and we're both a little bit worried."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Harry." And she wasn't. Or at least, she kept telling herself she wasn't. It wasn't like there was any way that Harry could have known about what had happened the night before. In fact, she still hadn't gotten around to even mentioning the rooftop garden to him. She hadn't meant to hide it from him, but it was nice to have a space that was just hers and no one else's. Hermione figured he wouldn't mind. But still - it meant that there was just no way he would know or could know. So, really, she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Look. I know you're an adult, and you can make your own choices. But… Malfoy isn't a good idea."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up and she crossed her arms rather petulantly. "Harry, you're really not being clear. I have no idea what on earth you're on about."

"Oh, drop it Hermione. Even if you haven't admitted it, it's pretty obvious that there's _something_ happening between the two of you. The way he looks at you," Harry paused, frowning. "The way you look at him."

"I don't look at him in any particular way!" Hermione had never been a very good liar.

"Things have changed between you two. He may not be a Death Eater anymore, might not want us dead, but that doesn't mean he's a good person, or worth your time."

Hermione stood up from the chair, deciding she had had about enough of this. She tried not to think about the fact that the only reason she _was_ getting so riled up was because Harry was right. Something was different between the two of them beyond that kiss, and she still wasn't sure what it was or how to deal with it.

"Just. Be careful, Hermione, please. He's Malfoy. He's a Slytherin. He'll do what it takes to survive, no matter who that means he steps on along the way."

Hermione stepped around him to get to the door, but paused in the frame, turning back to look at her best friend. "You said it already. You know I'm an adult. So treat me like one, and believe me when I tell you nothing is happening. I know how to look out for myself, Harry."

His shoulders drooped in defeat and he nodded at her. "I know. Just promised I'd look after you."

"You are." Hermione reassured him, and then took a breath and headed for her room, ready for another day of trying to pretend that everything was fine. Another day of pretending her life wasn't changing so quickly around her that she could barely try to keep up.

* * *

 **A/N:** The quote from the garden is a (slightly abrigded) line from Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2:

Juliet  
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,  
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.  
Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest  
Come to thy heart as that within my breast.  
Romeo  
O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

Ten points to whoever catches the other slightly more obscure reference (to another Scottish tragedy American musical without my having to name the play.)


	10. Life Continues

Hermione was, once more, on a mission for tea. She was getting nowhere with her work on werewolf laws, so had switched tactics to focus instead on this whole compatibility nonsense. If there was any couple that could prove that the Ministry's formula was not as ironclad as they purported it to be, it was Harry and Ginny. If she could figure out just what it was that they were basing the whole formula on, she may be able to convince them _not_ to. That is, if she could pinpoint exactly what it was that meant that Harry and Ginny had not ended up together, she could prove why it wasn't actually a good measure for compatibility. Everything would go back to normal and she wouldn't have to think about the uncomfortable feeling that bubbled up in the pit of her stomach every time she thought about Draco Malfoy and his damned pale skin and silver eyes and soft, strong fingers.

Which is why, when she realized she'd read the same line over four times, she decided that the only thing that could solve her current dilemma was tea.

Hermione hadn't even realized she was in the hallway where his office was until she caught a glimpse of blonde in the corner of her eye. Pausing, she looked over and spotted Draco sitting at his desk, quill in one hand, and what looked suspiciously like a flask in the other. He was taking a rather long drink from said flask and then he screwed the lid shut, sliding it into his dress robes. When he glanced back up he caught her eye, and Hermione couldn't help herself.

She pushed past his half closed door and into his office until the only thing separating them was the desk.

"Malfoy," she began, not sure what tactic to take and finally deciding just to ask point blank. "Was that alcohol?"

He raised a blonde brow at her and leaned back in his chair, setting his quill down at the same time. "And what if it is?" He questioned defiantly.

Hermione gasped and glanced back to the door which was still slightly ajar, and then to him again. "You can't! I mean, we're at work! You can't just be drinking at eleven in the morning... at work!"

"Why not?"

Hermione had forgotten how infuriating he was, but now it was all rushing back to the surface. "Why _not_? It's wrong! Not to mention probably illegal."

The smirk that she was so used to from school tugged at his lips and he leaned forward, elbows on his desk, close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. "Granger, as you well know, I was a Death Eater. I think drinking whiskey at work pales in comparison, legally speaking."

Hermione shook her head at him, holding herself back from reaching over the desk and grabbing his shoulders and _shaking_. Merlin, he could be such an arse!

"What, cat got your tongue, Granger? Come on. You knew I wasn't some perfect little goody-goody. I'm no Potter."

"It doesn't matter who you are! It doesn't change the fact that you really shouldn't be drinking at work, alone, before noon."

Hermione paused and thought back. Had she ever once seen him without a drink in his hand? Other than when she ran into him at work, but even now all those encounters were suspect. "Are you drunk?" She asked, instead of dealing with the implications of her discovery.

Draco shrugged, careless. Except, she knew that it wasn't really careless, there was so much more behind every one of his controlled actions. "Why do you care?"

It was like dealing with a child, talking to him sometimes. "Why are you drinking right now?"

He fixed her with a gaze that was cold and calculating and sent shivers down her spine. A reminder that even though he was the man who quoted Hamlet and laughed in the sunshine, he was not a knight in shining armour either. "Generally, it's easier than dealing with my emotions." His voice was measured, careful not to give away too much in its inflection. But Hermione could see by the way he was now gripping his desk that saying that to her was the equivalent of slicing himself open so she could take a look at what made him run. She had the overwhelming sense that it would be very, very easy to mess up this moment, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

Steeling herself, Hermione reached out and placed one of her hands on top of one of Draco's. "Look." She began, glad he hadn't pulled back immediately from her touch. "If you ever need to talk to anyone, about anything." She fixed his eyes with hers, hoping she could convey her sincerity. "You can talk to me."

Draco laughed, but it wasn't the warm sunny laugh she had associated with him in her mind. It was cold and bitter and she had to force herself not to flinch in response. "Granger," he drawled, raising an eyebrow at her. "If you knew even a tenth of the things I've seen, of the things I've done…" He pulled his flask out again, swallowing another large gulp. "If you knew what I lived through, having that psychopath in my house… Trust me, you'd want to drink just as much as I do."

Hermione started to shake her head, to tell him that it was alright, she'd listen and be there if he needed her to, but he cut her off again.

"Granger. I'm too dark and twisted for your hero complex to fix. I'm too far past saving, and even if I weren't, it wouldn't be worth it. I have work to do." And with that, he had lifted his gaze from her face and turned it back to his papers, and stashed his flask back inside of his robes. He was now so focused on his work that Hermione wasn't sure he would even hear her if she tried.

* * *

Hermione was a woman on a mission.

She had always been someone who, once she got an idea, wasn't able to stop herself from implementing it. When she had first been sorted into Gryffindor, she had figured the hat wasn't entirely right about something. It wasn't that she wasn't brave, she could be if needed. But she was also desperately afraid of heights and found absolutely no enjoyment in doing reckless things just to see what would happen, like some of her peers. No, what she was was headstrong. Not necessarily impulsive, or idiotic, or harbouring some kind of death wish.

But when she knew something was wrong, or something was _right_ , she would stop at nothing to do what she thought was best. Even if, sometimes, she was the one in the wrong.

Hermione had it firmly lodged in her brain now that Draco needed her help, and that if she could figure out the best way to get through to him then he would appreciate said help. Besides, it wasn't like he was the only person who had to deal with Voldemort. Sure, he had probably had to do a lot of horrid things she never wanted to hear about, and he probably saw a lot worse things than she did.

But then again, she had been tortured on his ballroom floor. She had lost friends and teachers and _family_.

Which was why, a week later, when she went to get her morning tea, she'd bought one for him as well, and swung by his office to drop it off.

"Malfoy," she said carefully, knocking on his slightly ajar door with her knuckles and pushing it open when she heard a half-hearted grunt of assent. "I brought you a cup of tea." She set it on the desk and settled into one of his incredibly comfortable arm chairs, leaning back and taking a sip of her own.

He glanced up at her and frowned. "Granger. Do we have a meeting scheduled…?"

Hermione shook her head earnestly. "No, no. I just thought I'd bring by a tea, see how you were doing."

Draco picked up the tea and took a large gulp as he thought over her words, and when he set the cup back down on his desk he levelled her with a glare that could have melted ice. He watched her fidget for a moment or two under his gaze, and set his quill down to fold his hands together. She watched as his entire personality shifted. From concentrated on work - loose shoulders and tight grip on his quill, a small furrow on his brow - to puffed up chest, fingers steepled together, brow raised in a way that seemed mocking and cruel.

"Your friends must be absolute imbeciles." He said, and she scoffed at him, about to speak but he cut her off with a raised brow. "Do they see through you often, Granger? Or are they so thrilled to have someone mother them that they simply allow it and do as you wish?"

Hermione huffed a breath out at him and stood. "Wasn't aware you were in such a snippy mood today, Malfoy. Forgive me for thinking that everyone could use a tea on a rainy Monday morning."

"It's raining every morning, Granger. We live in Britain."

Hermione shook her head and made her way to the door. As she pulled it open, he spoke again.

"' _Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you_.'"

She couldn't help it. She had one foot in the hallway and one hand on the doorframe and his words sent shivers down her spine, but she looked back anyways. She returned his gaze with one of her own, raising a brow at him in the best imitation of his challenge and mockery that she could manage.

"Is Nietzsche the best that you've got, Malfoy?" Shaking her head, Hermione went to move before pausing once more, sighing slightly, and letting her face fall back into its neutral state, bitting her lip slightly. "If you truly believe, Draco, that I was not affected by the war, that somehow being on the winning side absolved me from pain and suffering of my own," she sighed, "you're not nearly as perceptive as I had thought you were."

* * *

It was three weeks before Hermione saw Draco at work again.

If she subtly asked Harry whether or not Malfoy had been turning up to work, it was only because she was worried he'd drunk himself to death and was rotting on the floor of his giant, stupid house.

"On assignment." Was the answer she got the first time, and the fourth time, and the twelfth time and finally Harry threw his hands up in the air and told her that if Malfoy did _not_ check in on time she'd be the first to know.

Hermione wasn't sure if she was relieved by that knowledge.

When she did see him, it was only briefly in the cafeteria. She had been trying to get a cup of tea that wasn't actually cold (seriously, she worked in a _magical government office_ the least they could do was charm the tea to stay warm!) when she saw a flash of blonde hair through the morning crowd and felt his harsh eyes on her. When she met them, she was thrown by the intensity, but not able to spend much time picking it apart because he was gone and the cafeteria worker had returned with a large and thankfully steaming cup of tea.

Hermione had almost made it back to her office when, out of nowhere, the door of a broom closet swung open and a hand wrapped itself around her upper arm and _tugged_ , and she would have screamed except there were fingers on her mouth.

She kicked and struggled and cursed herself for tucking her wand in her boots instead of her sleeve and when her eyes adjusted to the light she realized that the person holding her still was none other than Draco Malfoy. His entire body was pressed against hers and pressing her into a wall and she stopped struggling immediately, feeling the hard plane of his chest against hers and what felt like his thigh between her legs and something hard and thick pressing on her lower abdomen-

Hermione gasped as he pulled his hand back and swallowed hard. The last time she had been this close to him had been that night on the rooftop, now more than a month ago. His body was warm and solid and she wanted to melt against it, but she forced herself back into her head and placed the styrofoam cup on a shelf to her right, using her fingers to press against his chest a little. "Malfoy," she said, hating the breathy tone of her voice, "what on earth do you think you're doing?!"

Draco's ears flushed slightly pink at this but he did not move away from her. "Granger." His voice was strained and rough and the timbre of it sent heat pooling into her belly and she swallowed again. "I didn't mean," he frowned, lifted a hand away from the wall behind her to scrub over his face. "Didn't mean to startle you. I didn't think-"

"Didn't think I would take objection to being _abducted_ at work?" She hissed, remembering her anger and trying to force it to the forefront of her brain, tugging her brows down into the best imitation of a frown she could do at that moment.

"Gods, Granger, I'm not _abducting_ you." Draco lifted his fingers up now to catch her chin between them, careful but firm, forcing her to look up into his eyes. His pupils were so large they nearly swallowed up the silver she normally saw there, and he was tensing his jaw again. "I'm just… I can't," he groaned softly and shook his head. "I don't know how to deal with you."

Hermione scoffed indignantly at this, prodding her index finger into his chest. "And just what," she poked him again, "is that supposed to mean? Don't know how to deal with me? You don't have to deal with me at _all_. So why don't you just let me go and I'll pretend this never happened and-"

She was cut off by the feel of his breath on her lips. He wasn't kissing her, not quite, but if either of them moved a hair's breadth they would be. When he started to speak, she could almost feel his lips brush against hers. "You don't understand, Granger. I've been… on assignment… for nearly a month now. And I could not stop," he paused, inhaled, rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes. "I could not stop thinking about you, and how you might possibly be the nosiest woman that I know, and one of the most righteous-"

"Are you just going to insult me?" She mumbled, still trying to piece the situation together fully. Here he was, so close to kissing her and yet instead he was being quite mean, and she still wasn't sure what she thought of him. Other than the fact that she couldn't help but react to his deep voice and intense eyes and his laugh when he read literature in the sun.

"No, gods, that's not-" Draco sounded annoyed, vaguely, but for once she was rather sure it wasn't directed at her. "I couldn't stop thinking about your mess of hair, and your eyes, and the way your lips felt when I kissed you and," he paused, and his hand slipped down off her chin to rest on the side of her face instead, gentle and hesitant, and even though she couldn't see him Hermione had the overwhelming feeling that Malfoy never let himself be so vulnerable, not around her. "And the way you said my name."

Hermione couldn't help herself. She twisted her hand that was resting on his chest into his robes and closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his. Draco seemed to freeze for a moment, but then he was responding eagerly, the hand that had been against the wall dropping to her hip, the one on her cheek sliding down to her neck and back into her hair. Hermione reciprocated, tangling her free hand into his silky blonde locks and ignoring the voice in her head (that sounded suspiciously like Harry) which was screaming at her that this probably wasn't a good idea, and for once she allowed herself just to _feel_.

* * *

It was the last day of work before the Christmas Holidays, and now more than a week since what Hermione was referring to in her brain as 'The Closet Incident'. They had stayed there in that tiny space, just kissing, for what felt like hours, although it was really only twenty minutes or so. Finally they'd both realized they had actual work to do and slipped apart, and now every time Hermione went to get tea she walked past that blasted closet and thought of a hard body and smooth lips and tried her best not to melt too much. She still had work to do, after all.

The Ministry was holding its annual staff Christmas party that afternoon and Hermione had come prepared in a slightly-too-large red knit sweater, covered in white snowflakes magically enchanted to swirl around her all day. Generally, it was a bit of a slow day. Most people wanted to be home with their families, but the heads of the departments liked to see this "inter-office unity" and so attendance was more or less mandatory.

It was also interesting to see how different things were now that it was the first Christmas with the new law in effect. There were certainly more people coupled off. Some of them looked genuinely happy. Ron and Hannah stuck close together for most of the day, Ron introducing his wife as the owner of the Cauldron and the caterer of the event, a genuine smile on his face and pride in his eyes. Ginny and Harry were standing in a corner trying to seem inconspicuous, and Hermione couldn't help but glance around the room and wonder where Draco was - seeing as his wife had found the party just fine without him.

She didn't have to wonder long. He arrived fashionably late, as always, in grey wool slacks and a deep green sweater that looked like it would be perfect for snuggling into with a good book. Then again, Hermione figured most of his clothes probably would have cost her a week's worth of salary. Technically she still had plenty of money left over from her Order of Merlin, but Hermione doubted she'd ever be someone who could comfortably drop such large sums of money on clothes. Ginny, on the other hand, had no such scruples and was wearing a stunning dress and a pair of shoes that looked expensive even from halfway across the room.

Hermione had been standing by the punch bowl for only a few minutes when Draco came up beside her. "Granger, I must say. That sweater is…" he paused, tapping a finger on his lip as if he were considering exactly what he thought of the sweater.

"Festive?" Hermione supplied, with a smile.

"Atrocious. You should have it burned."

Hermione laughed at his response. Sometimes it worried her how quickly she had learned to understand him, the nuances of his dry wit and the way he twitched an eyebrow when he teased her, but furrowed it if he was truly upset about something. Draco Malfoy was fire, all consuming and dangerous, yet she couldn't help but lean closer to the flames, despite the obvious dangers.

"Any big plans for the holiday?" She asked, cordially. They were surrounded by people now, and the thoughts of his lips and large hands and warm body would have to wait.

Draco shrugged one shoulder, and scooped himself a cup of warm cider from the beverages table. "Hold this," he instructed, and passed Hermione his cup. She couldn't help but gasp in shock as he pulled his ever-present flask from a pocket of his trousers and glanced around the room quickly before tipping a generous measure into her cup, and then a smaller one into hers. Hermione flicked her head around the room quickly, hoping to Merlin that her boss hadn't noticed, but no one was even paying the two of them any attention whatsoever.

"Is that just your plan then?" She asked, pushing the cup back into his hands as soon as he had re-stowed his flask. "Spend the hols in a drunken stupor?"

Draco rolled his eyes at her. "Honestly, Granger. You have no understanding of nuance."

"Christmas Eve." She'd said it before she could help herself, the words tumbling from her lips. When he quirked an eyebrow at her, she fidgeted under his intense gaze, but pushed on anyways. "You and Ginny. Should come over on Christmas Eve. For dinner."

Draco crossed his arms and watched her carefully. "Interesting. I wasn't sure whether or not you two actually tolerated me in your house. I'd just assumed that the parties were simply an excuse-"

"Malfoy!" She chastised him, glancing around again. "You should know more than anyone," she said, voice low and intimidating, "that our dinner parties are simply an excuse for two lovely, happy couples to get together. My _husband_ and I do so enjoy entertaining you and your _wife_."

Draco sighed in a way that seemed practiced, but nodded along, acquiescing to her game. "Yes yes, Granger. Happy couples." The smirk that he flashed her in response though was anything but, all heady eyes and sharp white teeth, and Hermione shifted, trying to ignore the wetness between her legs.

They chatted amicably for nearly an hour, watching as people flowed in and out of the party, and Draco spiked two more drinks each for them. By the time Hermione had finished her third cider, she was feeling decidedly buzzed and wholly unlike herself. Draco leant over to whisper in her ear, pointing to a couple and murmuring about a little secret that his mother had heard including the two of them and a centaur, and Hermione tossed her head back and laughed, feeling free for the first time in months. She also placed a hand on Draco's arm, enjoying the rich cashmere between her fingers and the hard muscles underneath her palm.

Draco's pupil's had long since blown and he was watching her carefully; she could feel his eyes tracing over the line of her neck and the small stretch of her collarbone that peaked out from the collar of her frumpy sweater. As she tilted her head back, she caught his gaze and once more had to swallow down the lump that was rising in her throat.

"Granger, I just remembered that I have that document for you, that important one that you needed before the holidays."

Hermione frowned up at him. Her brain was clouded and she wasn't sure he was making any sense.

"In my office. That very important document." He was trying to tell her something with his raised brows, but she wasn't cluing in on it. "The one we spoke about last Thursday? About those creature _abductions_?" He drew the word out long and low and it all clicked into her brain at once.

"Oh." She said, darting her tongue out to wet her lips. "Yes, you're right, that form is very important. Shall we, uh, go and retrieve that right now?"

They slipped out of the party and down the hall and Hermione couldn't help but giggle as they turned the corner away from it all. Neither of them spoke, they just walked quickly towards Draco's office, Hermione intermittently giggling when she realized what was happening.

Before they reached his office, Draco glanced down the corridor both ways and then pulled open the broom closet, grabbing Hermione's hand and tugging her in after him. This time they wasted no time, and Hermione found her back up against the door and Draco's body against her front and he had captured her lips in a kiss that tasted like apple cider and firewhiskey and something else that she was starting to realize was just the way he tasted.

Draco slid his hands down her sides and onto her hips and then, without warning, picked her up off the ground and pressed her further into the door. Hermione moaned into his mouth and wrapped her legs around his waist so she didn't fall, relishing in the hardness he pressed against her.

"This infernal sweater," he mumbled, as he broke away from her lips and began to kiss down the sides of her neck. "Gods, since when could someone make a bloody knit sweater with _charmed snowflakes_ on it look this good? Fuck, what have you _done_ to me, Granger?"

Hermione had no words; she just tangled her hand into his hair and swallowed the loudest of her responses as his lips worked over her pulse point. When he slid a hand up under her shirt and pressed slightly cold fingers to her side, she yelped softly and flinched away and his eyes shot immediately to hers, searching them. "Alright, Granger?" He asked, voice husky and heady. Hermione thought that if she liked the way he sounded when he read classic literature, she had been so mistaken, because this was truly his voice at its best.

Swallowing, she nodded back, immediately aware of the fact that he had ceased all movement at the noise and looked like he would have backed away if that hadn't meant dropping her as well. "Y-yeah, just, your hands. Cold." She explained, brain not functioning at her typical capacity. Mostly she just wanted to feel his lips on her skin again, and his hands - now that they had warmed up thanks to the contact with her skin.

Draco nodded and pressed forwards into her again, returning his head down to her neck where it had been. He didn't kiss it immediately though, instead he whispered against it. "Just, tell me to stop, and I'll stop. If it's too much."

Hermione frowned down at the top of his head and then, in a very Draco-esque action, grabbed his chin and tilted it up to look at her. "I'm here because I want to be here." She said, carefully, slowly, so he would understand. "I want this too." He nodded, but continued to watch her. Hermione swallowed hard, feeling that the next sentence was crossing a line she had never expected with him but despite that knowledge, she knew she was going to say it anyways. "I trust you, and I trust that you'll listen to me, if I say no."

Draco sighed and pulled out of her grip, kissing her forehead softly, tenderly. "I'm not sure what you're doing, Granger." He admitted, leaning his forehead against hers and staring into her eyes. "With me, I mean."

Hermione smiled, then, and caught his cheeks in her hands so that she could pull his face back and look at him, really look. There was the heady arousal; obvious in large pupils and flushed cheeks and swollen lips. But there was also his tensed jaw, and the hand that stayed unmoving on her hip: his uncertainty was nearly palpable. Hermione pressed a kiss to his forehead, muttering against his skin. "' _There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good,_ '" she kissed each of his cheeks, "' _and we must hunger for them_.'"

Draco let out a sigh that felt like a shudder against her body and slowly lowered her to the ground, moving his hand out from under her shirt and placing it carefully on her cheek. "You must be pissed, Granger. Beautiful and good are not words anyone would apply to me sober."

Hermione frowned up at him, but he kissed her again, soft and sweet, and stepped back. "It's time to go home, Granger."

Draco opened the closet door then and glanced out, nodding when the coast was clear and tugging Hermione out with him. She blinked into the harsh light and tried to work out what had happened in that moment. She was still wondering when she arrived home at Grimmauld Place, and as she climbed into bed, and she fell asleep still caught up in the puzzle that had become Draco Malfoy.

* * *

 **A/N:** Quotes this week:

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche  
"There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger for them" - George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss (1860)


	11. Christmas Bells

The first week of her winter vacation sped by in a blur of novels and tea and snowflakes. Harry and Hermione spent an entire day decorating Grimmauld place, putting up a large tree in the living room, filling the entire building with floating candles and garlands of falling snow that melted into nothingness before they hit the ground. Hermione spent the winter equinox with Ginny, Hannah, and an incredibly pregnant Luna Lovegood, sitting around on the floor of Luna's house surrounded by candles and good friends. It was so refreshing that she nearly forgot about the fact that she'd invited Ginny and _Draco Malfoy_ to her house for Christmas Eve dinner until Ginny brought it up.

Hermione was, once again, doing her best not to panic at the thought of Draco in their house. This time, though, it was more about the fact that she couldn't stop thinking about him, _dreaming_ about him, and she still wasn't sure where they stood or what they were doing at all. He was confusing. Warm one minute, pressed against her body and touching her like she could break if he went too far. And then he was insufferable, rude, and drunk. Or at least, drinking.

When the doorbell rang, Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. Harry shot her an odd look from the armchair he was sitting in, but she swallowed it down and joined him at the door. Harry pulled Ginny into their customary it's-been-too-long hug and Draco handed her a bottle of wine. She couldn't help but notice that he had that intense heady look in his eyes, the same one that she remembered so vividly in a night that was otherwise a blur of spiked ciders and closet kisses.

"So, Granger," he'd began, as they settled down at the table. "I'm interested in hearing about your latest creature of the week. "Let me guess. Government subsidized sunglasses for basilisks!"

Hermione laughed at him, rolling her eyes. "You know as well as I do that there are no known basilisks currently alive, Malfoy."

Draco shrugged, indifferent. Then grinned. "Alright, even better. Notice-Me-Not charms for all the thestrals who are now uncomfortable that so many of us can see them?"

Harry and Ginny's conversation dropped abruptly and Hermione couldn't help but wince herself. "Well," Ginny said, glancing around at her dinner companions. "That was rather morbid, Malfoy."

"My apologizes for not being sufficiently housetrained, _Ginevra_."

Ginny flushed red in frustration and shot him a look that he took in stride, lifting up his wine glass and gesturing it at her in a 'cheers' motion.

"Who would have thought," mused Harry, aloud, "that the four of us could ever sit down to a dinner and act… like mates?" Hermione glanced and saw Draco looking at her with an odd expression on his face, as if he were trying to solve a riddle, but Harry didn't seem to notice.

"To putting the past behind us." Hermione lifted her glass now as well, returning Draco's intense stare, waiting for him to respond. Draco only nodded and clinked his glass against hers, and then against Harry and Ginny's, and the four settled into their Christmas feast.

* * *

After dinner, Harry and Ginny claimed they were going to take a Christmas walk through the city (staying a respectable distance apart, of course) and would probably be gone for at least a few hours.

This left Hermione and Draco sitting on opposite sides of the now-empty table, watching each other. Hermione fidgeted slightly under his gaze, wondering if she should say something about the week before, about the way they left things in the closet. While she debated internally about whether or not it would be a good plan, Draco stood and walked around the table, catching her hand in his and pulling her to his feet. They stood, looking at one another for a moment, and Hermione wasn't sure which one of them acted first.

Draco's hands rested on the side of her neck and her hip, and she slid her fingers up into his silky blonde hair as they pressed their lips together, letting thoughts of the world drop away and focusing in on only each other. Hermione wasn't sure what had possessed her lately. What got into her head when she was around him. She had never been like this before, certainly not with Ron. This desperate need to be touching him, to feel his hands on her skin and his lips on her lips. She knew, rationally, that they weren't necessarily making the best decisions. That he had a lot to work through, but so did she. But when she looked into his eyes she got lost and her entire sense of rational thought seemed to melt away and the only thing she could think of doing was pressing her lips to his, and so she did.

Hermione leaned back so that she was half-sitting on the table and pulled Draco between her legs, letting him run his hands over her sides and twist his fingers through the small curls along the nape of her neck. When their lips broke she leaned further into him and kissed along his jaw and then down his neck, drawing a groan from him.

"Gods, Granger." He mumbled, into the top of her hair. "Fuck, who would have, oh _fuck_ -" she had nipped at the skin on his neck and then lathed her tongue over the spot, and she couldn't help but smirk into him as he swore at her ministrations. Draco's hand once again slipped up under her sweater, brushing his now-warm fingers over the skin underneath, and she didn't flinch away this time, and he was bolder in letting his hand inch up further, sliding over her soft skin.

Draco used his other hand to tug her head back again and he caught her lips in his own once more, and they stayed like this together, pressed up against one another. Hermione pulled back to take a deeper breath of air and he took the opportunity to tug her sweater up and off her head, tossing it beside her on the table, leaving her standing in her beige lace bra, a stark contrast to her dark skin, and he groaned at the sight.

"Merlin, you should wear less hideous clothes, Granger." He paused, then, and laughed softly, leaning down to trail kisses over her collarbone and over the top of her breasts, drawing small gasps from her mouth. "Or, perhaps not. All of this will be for my eyes only."

"If you're lucky," Hermione mumbled before she let her eyes flutter shut, clutching at his shirt with her hands and moaning softly as he dropped his head lower to flick his tongue over her nipples through the thin fabric. Only you," she said, voice breathy and higher than she was used to. "Could insult me and still, _oh_ , make me feel so good."

Draco chuckled again at her and bit softly at her skin, causing her to moan again. "Yes, well, I've always had a talent for insulting people, haven't I?"

She paused, waiting for him to have some revelation like he had after the party and stop doing these things that felt so wonderful, but he didn't. He just kept kissing her skin, moving his fingers in small circles against her hip. When he pulled back, it was only a little, and he used the increased space to tuck his fingers into the waistband of the jeans she was wearing, flicking open the button and sliding them down off her hips.

Hermione shimmied slightly to allow him to slide them down, and stepped out of them when they hit the ground. Draco took a moment to run his eyes over her body; lace bra, black panties, smooth dark skin. Then his eyes hit the scar that ran from the middle of her left ribcage to the top of her hip and he let out a deep breath. It was still puffy and tinged slightly purple, it had never healed the way a normal non-magical injury would have.

"Who?" Draco whispered, as he ran a finger over it, carefully, making sure she wouldn't recoil.

She inhaled, counted to four, and exhaled again. _It's over. You're safe. You're here and this man would never hurt you. Not now_. "Antonin Dolohov."

Draco made a noise that almost sounded like a hiss and he looked up, his eyes dark as he caught her gaze. "He's dead now." He said it like it was a promise. Hermione didn't think she liked it - but with him the line between love and hate blurred more every day.

"It doesn't matter." She said, catching his hand and pulling it off the scar, kissing his palm and then fingers in turn. "I'm fine."

His shoulders tensed but he nodded once, and she leaned forward again to recapture his lips in another kiss. As she did so, she reached out and pulled his buttons open, feeling open and vulnerable in her undergarmets and him still fully dressed. As she opened the last button she pulled back, tracing her eyes and then fingers over his muscular chest, slashed with thin white scars. Except, she knew where they were from. Knew what Harry felt about them, how much it haunted him. Deciding that Draco was not one for pity, Hermione instead kissed one, and then another, and then she slid the shirt from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground.

Draco had captured her lips in a kiss as she did this, and so she didn't see, at first. At first, she was so focused on the way his chest and shoulders felt under her hands, caught up in his lips and the way his hands rested against her waist.

And then.

And then she pulled back from the kiss, trailing her eyes over his chest, down his arms-

Hermione's breath stopped and her heart slammed into her chest. Dark ink on pale skin, a horrendous twisted design, curly hair and rank breath on her face and she tried to take a deep breath but there was no air, no air for her to breathe. She vaguely registered shaking her head, wrapping her arms around her body, the feeling of cold tears dripping down her cheeks. Someone grabbed her arm and she screamed, wrenching her entire body away from the grasp and barely registering as she crashed to the ground, hip slamming into the flagstones. The pain was negligible, compared to the rush of blood in her ears and her muscles tensing and her nerves screaming up at her that something was wrong that everything was _wrong_ that the pain was coming back any second any second-

"Hermione!" Someone was shouting her name. Her _name_ , not mudblood, not whore, but her name and it felt like a tug back to reality. When it registered in her brain she also realized that there was someone holding her hand, squeezing it tightly.

What was she supposed to do again? Her brain was still spinning and lost and she knew there was _something_ she had been told to do.

" _Alohomora_ ," she whispered, voice raspy and weak. " _Baubilious_ … _colovaria_ , _draconifors_ -" _Draconifors_ \- something in that stuck in her brain and all of a sudden everything rushed back to her and she gasped, forcing her eyes open.

Somehow, Hermione had ended up on the floor. Draco was knelt in front of her, his shirt hastily tugged back on, and he looked absolutely panicked. His eyes were wide and he was squeezing her hand and saying her name over and over like it was a prayer. When he realized that she had opened her eyes again, he let out a ragged breath and immediately let go of her hand, pulling back from her just a little bit.

Hermione blinked, and became aware of a sharp pain in her hip, as well as the fact that she was currently sitting on the ground of her dining room in a bra and knickers. "What…" she looked up at Draco, trying to figure out what had happened. And then she remembered it, all at once. His mark.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching out a hand for him. He pulled back further, now sitting more than a foot away from her, and he wrapped his arms around his legs. He was holding himself tightly in a way that she had never seen before, that made him seem even more vulnerable than he had a moment ago. "Draco, I'm-"

"Don't." He cut her off, voice not sharp but pained instead. "It's not your fault." Draco glanced down at his own arm, and then back at hers. "I didn't know that you…"

Hermione frowned and wrapped her arms around herself as well, shrugging awkwardly. "Not all the time. Not as much as I used to."

Draco frowned at her, searching her eyes for something. "When was the last one?"

She swallowed, looking down into her lap, and sighed. "At your wedding. The chandelier. It's the same one that was there, well, it looks the same as the one that was there. When Bellatrix…"

Draco growled now, and he leaned forward but didn't touch her. "If she wasn't dead I'd fucking kill her, for doing this to you. I'd slice her open and watch her _bleed_."

Hermione's head shot up and she looked at him, expecting to see humour in his eyes or something to give away that he would never actually do something like that. It wasn't there. A cold chill washed down her spine and she remembered who he had been, what he had seen. Even if he had been brainwashed, even if he didn't believe it anymore. He could now sit across from her and say with no remorse that he would murder someone to avenge her. She had that same feeling, the distinct worry that this was not alright and that she did not like this, mingled with something that felt a lot more like she _did_ like it. And it scared her.

"Do you know where my sweater is?" She asked, and Draco nodded, standing immediately and returning with her sweater, handing it over so she could pull it over her head. When she tried to stand and winced at the pain he reached out and helped her up, but let go of her instantly, watching as she tugged her jeans back on.

"I'm... Granger, we never should have…" Draco ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it a little in frustration. "This was my fault. This was a bad idea."

Hermione reached out then, grabbing his hand and tugging him closer, leaning her forehead on his chest and breathing in the comforting scent of expensive ink and broom polish and a deep musk that seemed too indescribable to be anything but _him_. She could hear his heart thudding against his chest and took comfort in the rhythm of it. "No." She said, careful but firm. "This is not your fault. This is no one's fault. I just. I just need more time."

Draco lifted a hand to rest against her back, rubbing soothing circles over it. "Okay." He sounded like he wanted to fight it, to tell her it wasn't worth it - _he_ wasn't worth it. But he held himself back and she was grateful, if only because the last thing she wanted to do at that moment was admit that he might be right, and this might be a very bad idea indeed.

* * *

 **A/N:** Alright! We're officially caught up to everything that has been posted over on ao3. Like I said, I'll be updating first over there and primarily over there, but my goal is to keep this version updated as soon after as I can. Hopefully that won't be much of a problem.

Also, as things start to get a bit more explicit, these chapters will be edited down to remove the content ffn is not okay with. I'll make a note here when that's been done, and the full versions can be found on ao3.

I update on Tuesdays & Fridays, and you can follow me on tumblr (same username as here) as well so you don't miss them. I've also posted a lot more of my work there, and more on ffn than there is here.

Thank you for reading and I hope you've enjoyed the story so far!


	12. On Holiday

Christmas at the Burrow was much like it always was. There were far too many in the house, Weasleys coming out of every nook and cranny. The kitchen was always full of people and food and the living room was loud with laughter and occasionally an explosion or two. Usually, Hermione loved it there. It smelt and tasted like home to her in a way that she relished. For a few days, the Burrow always cheered her up, soothed her, cleared her mind.

This Christmas, everything that she usually loved was rubbing her the wrong way. It was too noisy and there was no place to go, to hide. Ginny had arrived without Draco, claiming that he was with his mother and neither of them had, rightfully, wanted to spend the holiday together. Hermione's stomach dropped when the redhead had arrived alone, but she wasn't sure whether it was in relief or in sadness.

And now, everyone was sitting around in post-dinner bliss, lounging by the fire, wearing their Weasley sweaters. Harry and Ginny had slipped away for the second time that day, and Hermione had decided she couldn't stand it anymore. It felt suffocating.

Pushing open the back door, she gasped in cold air, doubling over and inhaling deeply, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt the tears well up. Swallowing the sob that bubbled up through her chest, she dropped down onto the step, wrapping her arms around her knees and placing her face on top of them. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed and she decided not to hold it in anymore.

After what felt like hours, Hermione finally took a deep breath and lifted a hand to wipe at her tears, propping her chin on her knee so that she could scan her eyes over the back garden, watching as a gnome tried to dart across without being too obvious.

Truthfully, Hermione wasn't entirely sure what she was crying about. The injustice of it all, maybe. The reminder that Draco had been sixteen when he had been forced to heel and branded by a psychopath. The conflicting emotions of wanting someone - desperately wanting someone - who was not entirely a good person. Not that anyone was truly a good person, not really, but there was something more to Draco. A darkness that she wasn't used to. An intensity that scared her.

There was also the worry that she would never be able to look at him, to look at his mark, and not panic. That he would take it the wrong way, as if it were something about him rather than the fact that she saw that mark in her worst nightmares, had stared directly at it during her most difficult experience.

And how could you love someone who was on the other side of a war? Who, whatever their reasons, had done things that you considered unimaginable? Unforgivable? Beyond that, she wasn't even sure what her feelings really meant. Hermione was attracted to him, no doubts there. He was intoxicating. When she stopped thinking about _them_ and only thought about him, in front of her, his hands on her skin, Hermione couldn't help but _feel it_ so painfully she wasn't sure how it was possible. How it was possible to sit with this need and this longing and not burst at the seams.

How could she long for him when something that was a part of him terrified her? How could she reconcile the man who she saw laughing in the sunlight with the man who could tell her, without hesitation, that he would kill for her?

Hermione's brain was running in circles, and she was jolted out of it when the door beside her creaked open and a familiar figure dropped down onto the stoop beside her. Hermione smiled over at the newcomer, taking in her flushed face and wide-eyed expression.

"The first Weasley Christmas is definitely an experience." Hermione commiserated, smiling at Win the best that she could manage.

"Right you are, Hermione. They're a wild lot, this one." But her voice was warm and she smiled, dazed and happy as she said it. "How are you doing? You've been out here a while."

Hermione shrugged, awkwardly, stretching her legs out and flexing her fingers against the cold. "I've been better, I think."

Win turned her body slightly towards Hermione, pulling out her wand and casting a quick warming charm around them - just enough to take the bite off. "Want to talk about it?"

Hermione sighed, fidgeting. "I don't know. It's really rather complicated, actually." Win was looking at her though, in that same way full of curiosity and softness that made Hermione want to open up. "Do you remember Draco Malfoy? From school? I mean, beyond the fact that he's married to Ginny."

"Oh, who could forget the little bugger? ' _Wait till my father hears about this!_ ' Thought he owned the whole bloody school. Stuck up prejudiced little brat." Win paused, remembering the rumors - remembering the truth. "He let them into Hogwarts."

Hermione sighed, rubbing at her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Yeah. He hated me. I mean, it was certainly mutual. He was a pureblood blood-purist. Thought I was scum of the earth, and told me so regularly."

Win nodded. "I can't believe he got matched up with Gin. She's feisty, I know she can hold her own against him. It just seems odd. That whatever this compatibility measure is seemed to decide that they were right for each other. It just, it seems wrong. But," Win paused, glancing down at her hand where her wedding ring sparkled in the winter sunlight. "George and I… I couldn't have imagined or asked for someone better suited to me. We understand each other on a level I didn't think was really possible. And from the sounds of it he's happier than he's been in years. So, why were we so lucky, when others weren't?"

Hermione groaned, shaking her head. "I've got no idea, Win. I've been trying to research from the last time this happened. But the records are terrible, really horrendous. But," she paused, looking back out towards the gnome who was now crawling across a particularly large and empty stretch of grass. "But the problem I'm having right now is… it's more, uh..." Hermione groaned and dropped her face into her hands. "I have some form of feelings for Draco Malfoy; I'm not sure what to do with them or where they came from and I don't know what to _do_ anymore."

Win didn't respond for a long moment and Hermione was worried, waiting for the woman to tell her that she was being an idiot and needed to stop right then and there. "Feelings aren't actually things we have that much control over, Hermione."

Pulling her hands from her face, Hermione turned her head slightly so that she could see Win's reactions. But Win looked just the same as she had a minute ago. No malice or distrust in her expression.

"I know, but... We just have such an awful history. And I don't know how to separate the boy who was so atrocious from this brilliant man who quotes Hamlet and Nietzsche and laughs with his whole body and does everything he can to suppress his emotions because he _hurts_." Hermione sighed. "And now I sound like a nutter."

"No!" Win reached out, grabbing one of Hermione's hands. "No, you're not. And, maybe you don't need to separate those people. He's still himself, but I think you're a pretty brilliant person, Hermione. I don't think you'd be feeling these things if you didn't know that he's changed. That he's taken those bad things about himself and actively worked to change them. Everyone hurts, after what we've all been through. I can't imagine having the added knowledge that you were on the wrong side."

Hermione nodded, eyes trained on the gnome who was now taking small steps, freezing completely between them, trying to pretend he was not actually moving closer to the flowerbed. "Maybe. He's still scary, sometimes. He's been through things I can't understand, and can't comprehend. And I'm worried… that he's going to pull me down with him."

"That will never happen." Win sounded so clear, so sure of it that Hermione turned to look at her. "You have so many people who love you, who support you, who are holding on to you. If you start to go down, we're all going to pull back."

Hermione sighed, but smiled at the girl beside her. "I'm glad you ended up part of our wild family, Win."

"Me too, Hermione."

As they stood up to go back inside, Hermione couldn't help but feel relieved. Talking to someone who had a negative opinion of Draco - but not to the same degree as Harry and Ron did - who didn't immediately say that it was the stupidest thing she'd ever done was reassuring. It didn't solve her dilemma, but it definitely didn't hurt either.

* * *

"Hermione!"

Footsteps pounded up the stairs of Grimmauld Place and Hermione looked up from her book just in time to see Harry skid over the wood floor at the top of the stairs. He rounded the corner into the library and leaned against the doorframe, taking a deep breath.

"Harry?" Hermione sat up straighter at the sight of him. His cheeks were flushed and some of his hair was sticking literally straight up. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry waved his hands, excitedly. "Come on, Hermione, we have to go! We have to go to St. Mungo's!"

Hermione shot up out of her chair, immediately crossing the room to Harry. "Harry what's wrong? Are you alright? Is someone injured?" She paused, gasped. "Is Ginny okay?"

Harry nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and grabbed her hand to try and pull her off the chair. When she didn't move immediately, he dropped it and went straight over to the fire, tossed in a pinch of floo powder, and stepped in.

"Harry wait! Harry what's going on?!" Hermione called, rushing forward before he disappeared.

"Luna!" Harry cried, excitedly. And then, with a shout of "St. Mungo's" he was gone.

Hermione threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. What was that even supposed to mean? She quickly accio'd her purse and tossed her book in, as well as the one that Harry had been reading the last she'd seen him. As she tossed her own powder into the fire she counted backwards. Luna would have gotten pregnant around the middle of April. Which meant that she wasn't technically due till probably closer to the middle of January. So this visit could really be anything.

When she stepped out at the other end, Hermione was reminded of exactly what day it was.

New Years was not a day you wanted to be in the hospital. The waiting room was full of people who'd drank far too much, people who'd burned themselves on fireworks and sparkler charms gone awry, and it was just generally chaotic. She'd barely moved away from the fireplace when Harry had her hand and was tugging her down the hallway.

"Harry, is Luna _alright_? Has something gone wrong or is she in labour? You're really not giving me much to go on here!"

As he pulled her into the elevator, Harry finally took a breath and realized he hadn't explained anything. "Nothing's wrong, Hermione, I just got a Patronus from Gin, said we had to get here as soon as possible but not to worry. She was at practice with the Harpies so she'll be here soon, but wanted us to get here right away."

Hermione sighed. For all they knew, Luna had only just started her labour. She was very glad she'd remembered to bring a book for the both of them then. The elevator dinged and they stepped out onto the quiet and peaceful maternity ward. Harry checked in with the nurse and they were directed down a hallway.

"That's it, fourteen." Harry gestured to the door and Hermione nodded, moving to knock softly on it. She wasn't going to barge in if Luna was in the middle of, well, birthing a child.

"Come in!" A soft voice had responded and Hermione looked over to Harry, and then opened the door.

Hermione's heart swelled with pride as they entered the room. In an armchair right up next to the bed were Dean and Seamus, curled around one another with a tiny bundle in their arms. They were both utterly captivated, looking down and whispering sweet nothings to each other and the bundle in their arms, Dean running a finger over his baby's tiny face.

Luna and Pansy were in a similar position. Pansy was on the bed, Luna in between her legs, leaning back. Luna looked exhausted and radiant. Her hair was a sweaty mess but Pansy had obviously pulled it back into a french braid to keep it mostly out of her way. Her skin was flushed but she was glowing and the smile on her face could have lit up the whole room. Pansy had her chin rested on Luna's shoulder. One of her arms was supporting Luna with holding their daughter, and the other one was on Luna's lap with her fingers tangled through Luna's free ones. She didn't even look up at the extra Gryffindors in the room, fixated wholly on the bundle in Luna's arms.

"Hermione, Harry, hello." Luna beamed up at them, waving them in with the hand that Pansy was clearly not letting go of. "How wonderful to see you both. What excellent timing. The healers have just left to give us some space."

As they passed over the threshold Hermione felt the telltale cleaning charms wash over her and she shuddered, but slid out of her coat and dropped it and her bag on a chair near the door. Harry had done the same. Making her way over to the bed, Hermione sat tentatively on the edge of it, peering at the small wrinkled face that she could see peeking out the deep green blanket.

"Oh Luna," Hermione whispered, voice soft. "She's absolutely beautiful." Luna's grin could have split her whole face and she nodded.

"Yes. I did a rather good job, don't you think? We've named her Bryony; she's going to grow and climb and sprout just as beautifully as any other vine."

Harry had gone over to Dean and Seamus, and was crouching in front of their chair, looking at the little girl they held wrapped in red. She was obviously not Luna's child by blood. Her skin was much darker, a more even blend of her two fathers. Her face was different as well, but she was no less precious.

"Thanks for coming, mate." Seamus mumbled, finally tearing his eyes away from his daughter to look up at Harry. "We really appreciate it." Harry nodded enthusiastically at his friends.

"Of course! We wouldn't miss this for the world."

* * *

Hermione and Harry had been with the happy parents nearly an hour when there was another soft knock on the door.

"Come in!" Called Luna. Hermione was now sitting in a chair next to Dean and Seamus, cuddling their little girl. Harry was next to Luna and Pansy, watching as his friend and her wife melted over their new daughter. Pansy Parkinson was not someone that would ever be called soft, but if there was ever a time to apply the word, now was probably it.

The door swung open and Ginny entered, flashing a smile at Harry. Draco was right behind her, and Hermione glanced up just as he scanned the room. Their eyes met and she shivered involuntarily under his gaze.

Ginny seemed like she wanted to go to Luna, but Draco was headed over there and rather than crowd the new mother she instead turned to Dean and Seamus. "Hello little one," she mumbled, over the bundle that Hermione was holding. "What's her name?" She asked then, looking back at the proud fathers.

"Kyra." Seamus supplied, with a smile. "Dean was nice enough to indulge my roots. _Little dark one_. We both thought it fit pretty well."

Ginny nodded enthusiastically, and Hermione stood up, letting Ginny take the seat and then passing her the bundle. And then she turned and her eyes landed on something she had never imagined before.

Draco Malfoy was sitting in an armchair, leaned back, with the bundle of baby in his arms. His face had broken into a soft smile and he was brushing his finger over the child's forehead. He looked awestruck, and domestic, and all of the thoughts that Hermione had had over the past week of him being dangerous slipped immediately from her mind.

"Granger." Hermione turned her head to the voice, immediately bracing herself. Pansy Parkinson didn't often speak to her, but when she did it wasn't usually for a good reason. "I need coffee. You're not holding a baby. Let's go."

Hermione glanced around to see if anyone would rescue her, but Luna looked half-asleep, and Ginny was holding Kyra with Harry crouched next to them, hearts in his eyes. Draco was too caught up with Bryony, and so, it was just her. "Sure, Parkinson." At this point, what else did she have to lose? Besides, if Luna liked her she couldn't be that bad.

The walk to the hospital cafeteria was tense and awkward. Pansy got coffee for herself, Dean and Seamus, and an herbal tea for Luna (and made Hermione help carry them). As they headed back, Hermione was about to say something when Pansy abruptly stopped walking. They were in an empty corridor and Hermione had the thought that even if she needed her wand, she wouldn't be able to grab it due to the coffee in her hands. Then again, Pansy wouldn't either. It still wasn't a comforting thought.

"Look, Granger. I don't know what your deal is. Everybody looks at you like the bloody sun shines out your arse, and frankly, I don't see it." Hermione frowned, but Pansy pressed on. "I get that you don't like me. Not many people do these days. But look. I'm not sure what game you and Draco are playing."

"We're not-" Hermione had started to speak but Pansy shot her a withering look and she closed her mouth.

"Don't even try to deny it. Draco is my best friend. Don't think he didn't come to me, after what happened between you two. He puts on a strong face, Granger, but he's struggling. And the last thing I need is for you to waltz in, hold his hand and tell him it's okay, and then stomp on his heart when you decide that you're too good for him."

"I'm not-"

"Did I look like I was done talking?" Pansy snapped. "Granger, I know you're smart. So I know that you know what it means that I was in Slytherin. I _protect my own_ , and Draco is the closest to my own that I will ever have, and the only other people in this fucked up world that I hold in such high regard are Luna and Bryony and Kyra. I guess those two bloody Gryffindors now, seeing as they're the fathers of my daughter's sister. If you fuck with him, play your little game, follow whatever fancy is in your head and then crack him open and don't like what's inside…" Pansy paused, turning her head away. Hermione thought she saw the Slytherin sniffle. "It will kill him." When Pansy turned back, the look she was sending at Hermione almost made her step backwards. "And if it kills him, I _will_ make the rest of your life miserable."

"Look, Parkinson." Hermione wanted to cross her arms, to protect herself. The coffee she was carrying prevented that. She felt vulnerable and exposed and she suspected it was because Pansy had hit her worries right on the nose. That she would crack him open and be horrified by what was exposed. "I don't know what we're doing. Draco and I. I don't… I don't think he does either. But, I don't think of myself as better than him, not now. We were both in a really terrible position and we both did what we needed to do to survive and," Hermione paused, realization setting into her bones, so true she could nearly taste it and she couldn't help but wonder why she had never placed words to this feeling before. "And I forgive him, wholly and wholeheartedly for that. And if we decide that whatever is happening is not the right thing for either of us, it won't be because he scares me off. And I won't leave him broken."

Pansy opened her mouth to speak, but it was Hermione who cut her off this time. "Trust me, Parkinson. You don't have to like me - I don't like you - but that's not the type of person that I am. I wouldn't let that happen."

Pansy eyed her carefully, looking closely at the woman in front of her. Finally, she nodded. "Fine. But my threat still stands, Granger. Don't fuck this up."

Hermione nodded in response, and they walked back to the rest of the room in silence. Hermione's brain caught up in Pansy's words, and in the way that she had realized, all at once, that she _did_ forgive Draco. She wasn't entirely sure why, and she certainly wasn't sure it was a good idea. But for now, perhaps, it was time to put that aside and for once, trust her gut instead of her brain.

* * *

Draco dipped out of the room shortly after Hermione and Pansy returned with the hot beverages. Hermione had been talking softly to Luna about who she was choosing to be godparents. Harry was clearly a frontrunner, though Dean and Seamus were planning on asking Neville and Ginny. Luna wanted to ask nearly everyone she considered a friend, and she was telling Hermione about Pansy's insistence that no, she couldn't have seven godparents (eight, if you counted the fact that Pansy had already asked Draco), but Luna didn't seem to mind much what Pansy said at all.

Hermione suspected it was part of why their relationship worked so well.

Noticing that Draco had left the room, Hermione passed Bryony back over to her mother, and glanced around to make sure that no one noticed she was going as well. Then, she too slipped out of the room, and made her way down the hallway. She paused as she passed a door that led to one of St. Mungo's small balconies, typically there so that patients could get a breath of fresh air, and opened it. Her hunch was correct, and Draco was standing at the edge, leaning with his forearms against the railing and looking out over the street.

Hermione took a breath for courage and stepped up beside him, leaning against the railing next to him. They stood in silence for a long moment, both taking in the cool night air and gathering their thoughts.

"Granger," Draco began, clearly uncomfortable.

"Not today." Hermione interjected, suddenly not wanting to get into it. She was still equal parts embarrassed and upset about what had happened in the dining room, and she wanted to just enjoy the moment with him, without bringing it up. "It's New Years. And today is for Luna and Pansy and Dean and Seamus. And Bryony and Kyra."

Draco closed his mouth and nodded once, but she could tell that he still wanted to bring it up again. "I heard about an interesting muggle tradition, once."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and turned her body to face his, inspecting his face for clues. He was stoic, holding his expression very neutral. Then he turned and lifted a hand to cup her jaw, peering down into her eyes. "What's that?" Hermione asked, suddenly breathless with his closeness.

"According to muggles," Draco began, grinning down at her. "On New Year's, you're supposed to kiss."

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes up at him. "When the clock strikes midnight, you're supposed to kiss. It's nearly half four-"

And then Draco cut her off, leaning down towards her and pressing his lips against hers. Hermione swallowed the rest of her comment and let herself enjoy the feeling, pushing all thoughts of Death Eaters and marks and his particular brand of intensity to the back of her mind.

Draco pulled back slowly, and then stepped away from her. "Happy New Year, Granger."

He was gone before she had a chance to respond, and Hermione slowly lifted a hand to her lips. "You too." She whispered, and then followed him back into the building.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for all of your support so far - it means so much to me! 3 Make sure to subscribe or follow my tumblr (same username as here) so you don't miss any updates. :)


	13. Second Chance

"Ginny wants to go ice skating."

They were two weeks into January and Hermione had just curled up in her favourite armchair, wrapped herself up with her favourite blanket, and propped open her favourite book. It was Saturday, and she had glorious plans to spend the day reading, drinking tea, and certainly not thinking about a specific blonde man. The problem, of course, was that every time she thought of him she thought of the mark, and then him kissing her on New Year's, and she was still struggling to reconcile the two images in her mind, despite the fact that she had already mentally forgiven him.

Harry was leaning in the doorway of the library, batting his eyelashes up at her.

"Today?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her tone light and hide the disappointment of a potentially lost afternoon of solitude.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. She has a game tomorrow, so she can't then, and she's worried the little bit of ice we have is going to melt. She even had Bilby cast an extra charm over the pond to keep it frozen, but that likely won't hold for more than a day."

Hermione sighed, looking wistfully back at her book. "And I suppose I'm needed to come, in case anyone sees us, to continue the pretense that this is nothing more than two couples enjoying each other's company."

"If, yeah, if you wouldn't mind." Harry nodded as he spoke and Hermione sighed. She wanted to tell him no - that she had big plans to do very little - but the sting of guilt in her stomach stopped her. All she had wanted, when she was fighting Voldemort, was for Harry to have a normal, happy life. For him to survive the war, marry his girlfriend, have beautiful babies. To be happy. And even though it wasn't her fault, she couldn't help but feel that she was an obstacle to that happiness.

"Alright. Let me just grab my coat."

A few minutes later, Hermione and Harry were standing in the backyard of the manor, bundled up in wool coats and scarves and gloves. The door opened and Ginny and Draco more or less tumbled out, Ginny smacking the blonde's arm playfully as she did so with a mittened hand.

"And what are you two fighting about?" Harry asked, as the others approached him. He pulled Ginny into a hug and kissed her forehead and Draco stuck his hands in his pockets uncomfortably, watching Hermione. She smiled at him, and his shoulders dropped slightly in relaxation.

"I practically had to bribe him to come out with us." Ginny explained, shooting a glare back over at Draco - but, being Ginny, she was also smirking at him. "He doesn't know how to skate."

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed, and Draco shot him a withering look that only made him laugh more. "Oh," Harry said, grinning broadly with mischief twinkling in his eyes. "This'll be priceless."

* * *

Harry and Ginny were already out on the ice, Ginny racing down one side of the pond and laughing with delight as Harry chased after her. Hermione watched as Harry crashed into her and they both tumbled to the ground, laughter floating back across the pond.

Hermione was standing on the edge, having transfigured her shoes into skates, and was watching Draco with her hands on her hips. He was on the bank beside the pond, wobbling on the blades now under his feet, and looking at the ice with trepidation.

"Honestly, Malfoy. I know you're not a coward. You lived with Voldemort; you can handle ice skating."

Draco peered up at her, crossing his arms. "I'm not a _coward_ , Granger, but that doesn't mean I'm an idiot. The whole thing is a death trap."

Hermione sighed, thinking about how she could get him on the ice. And then it hit her. "Ron knows how to ice skate. He's quite good, actually. All of the Weasleys do."

Draco let out a low noise that sounded a bit like a growl and then stepped forwards onto the ice. Immediately he started to wobble and Hermione reached out to grab him before he fell. He stood very still, other than his still shaking feet, and held onto her hands like they were the only thing between him and sudden death. "Right. This can't be that hard." And then, he let go of her grip, took one step, and immediately slipped, crashing to the ground and only barely managing to stick out his hands to stop himself.

"Fuck!" He shouted. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Draco shot a look at her and tried to use his hands to push himself up, and as he pressed the blades of his skates into the ground he slipped again, this time ending up on his behind.

Hermione couldn't help it now. She laughed loudly, pressing a hand to her stomach as she did so. "Oh, Malfoy. I needed that." She admitted, and then slid gracefully over to him. "Come here, don't let your pride be the death of you." She reached a hand out and Draco glared up at her, but took her hand and let her pull him to his feet.

"Alright," Hermione began, sliding easily into the role of instructor. "Take both of my hands." When he did so, Hermione smiled up at him. "Great. Hold onto me, but try to just use me for balance - don't lean on me too hard." Draco nodded once. "Okay, I'm going to move now. Focus on your center of balance. Like, like you're on a broom… I think."

And then, slowly, Hermione began to skate backwards, pulling Draco along with her. When he started to lean in too much or grab her too tightly she slowed down drastically, reminding him to recenter. There was something so peaceful in this moment, gliding across the ice, listening to Draco mumble and swear under his breath about _stupid activities_ and _damn Gryffindors_ and _bloody fucking slippery_. The way that he looked at her though, listened to her patient teachings and smiled at the corner of his mouth left butterflies in her chest and a heat in her stomach. She taught him how to move and how to stop, and finally decided he would probably be fine. He _was_ an athlete, after all.

"Right." Hermione decided, slowing them to a stop. "I'm going to let go. Remember your center of balance, remember how to stop. You've got this." And then, she dropped his hands and slid backwards.

Draco wobbled slightly, but took a breath and centered himself and stopped. He looked at her and she nodded encouragingly, and Draco slowly began to push himself forwards. Finally, he reached where she was again, beaming. "I made it all the way around the pond! Without falling!" He sounded as giddy as a child and there was something in his pure joy that made Hermione's heart swell.

"Amazing." She agreed, nodding.

"Yes, Granger. I am quite incredible." Draco's chest was puffed out and despite the pink tinging his cheeks and nose and the parts of his ears peeking out from his hat, he looked quite proud of himself.

Hermione couldn't help it. She'd always been a show off. Flashing him a grin, she took off down the ice, long graceful slides. With a quick thought of _I hope I can still do this_ , she began to turn and then kicked off from the ice, spinning with her arms wrapped tightly around her body, and landed, swooping her back leg out behind her. Flushing and grinning with self-pride, she glided back over to where Draco now stood, his mouth open in shock.

"I," he began, shaking his head. "But you?" He tried again. " _How_?" He finally asked, and Hermione burst out laughing at his incredulous stare.

"I took years of figure skating, before Hogwarts. Even then I often practised in the summer, at an indoor rink. And usually over break. I needed to channel my perfectionism into something, according to my mother, and gymnastics was too dangerous and dance was too catty." Hermione shrugged, but grinned up at him anyways.

"You mad, mad woman." Draco responded, shaking his head, and then he caught her arms and pulled her into him, pressing a sweet and soft kiss to her lips. Neither of them noticed Ginny watching them, a look of interest on her face.

* * *

Finally, the four collectively decided that they were far too cold to keep skating and needed to go outside. Draco took one look at the way Hermione apprehensively glanced at the manor and suggested they go to Grimmauld Place, seeing as it was cozier.

Dinner was, as usual with the four of them, enjoyable if a little strained. They all did their best not to ever speak about the realities of their predicament and the fact that they were all married to the wrong people. Instead, they talked about work, and Quidditch, and about how beautiful Luna and Pansy's daughters were, and how thrilled Dean and Seamus were. They didn't talk about their future children, or how two babies' potential magical abilities could change their lives.

Easy, but strained. As always.

When Harry and Ginny followed their customary schedule and slipped upstairs after dessert, Hermione and Draco were left in the dining room. Hermione was doing her best to avoid his eyes, and he was fiddling with the ring on his finger.

"Look, Draco-"

"I wanted to apologize-"

Hermione flushed as they spoke at the same time and she looked up at him, nodding for him to continue first. Draco sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"I wanted to apologize. For the last time. I… I didn't even think… about the fact that it would bother you." He paused, inhaled deeply, and squared his shoulders. "It was an oversight, but a grave one, and I understand if you don't want to do this any longer."

Hermione frowned, and stood up. She couldn't help herself, and she circled around the table, leaning against it next to him and looking down at him. "Stop it." She commanded, softly. "Stop thinking that you are… are forcing me into this! Or that I don't really _want_ this. I need this." She paused, thinking. "' _How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need_ this _, I need someone to pour myself into._ '" As she spoke, her cheeks flushed. Something about this moment felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice, and that she should step back or lean into it and embrace the fall.

Draco frowned up at her, and she reached out, catching his hand in hers and twining their fingers together. He sighed, softly, but his lips quirked into a smile too. "Really, Granger? I'm not sure if quoting Sylvia Plath is the best way to seduce a man." He admitted, and when she started to frown he laughed. "Luckily for you, I can't help but find it utterly and completely enticing."

Draco pushed himself to his feet and stepped in between her legs, pushing her back into the table and capturing her face with his hands, staring down into her large brown eyes. Hermione looked up at him, and pressed herself forward, and their lips met and she remembered exactly why she wanted this.

She didn't just want to embrace the fall. She wanted to _leap_.

Draco tugged her sweater over her head and this time she let him easily, and when he pressed his lips against her collarbone she hissed and arched her back into his touch, aching to feel him. Reaching up, Hermione began to undo his buttons and he pulled back from her, looking into her eyes. "Granger," he said, voice rough. "I can leave it on…"

Hermione cut him off by capturing his lips again, kissing as she worked her way through the buttons. "I forgive you." She murmured, and then took a deep breath. Steeling herself, she reached up and pushed the shirt over his shoulders, and he let it fall away.

Hermione swallowed, and looked away from his eyes, down at his arm.

And what she saw made her gasp, pressing a hand to her chest. "What?" She asked, looking up at him. He was standing in front of her, slightly awkwardly, but his expression had not changed. Trepidation. Uncertainty. His shoulders were set and his jaw was tense and she reached out, capturing his wrist to pull his arm closer to her.

His mark was still there, yes. It was unmistakable. But instead of sitting against his pale skin, stark and shocking and horrendous, it was nestled in a bed of flowers. Tattooed all around it, in brilliant whites and yellows and pinks and reds and blues. They covered nearly his whole forearm. Hermione swallowed hard, and ran a finger over it. The flowers shuddered in a way that looked like they were responding to the breeze, and she gasped again, looking up at him, searching his eyes.

"I don't understand?" She breathed.

Draco flushed, just slightly, and shrugged his other shoulder uncomfortably. Instead of really explaining, he used his free hand to guide hers, pointing out flowers with her finger. "Plumeria," he explained, pointing to a clump of stunning pink-and-yellow flowers. "New beginnings." He moved her finger again, to a grouping of small yellow flowers. "Wormwood. Bitter sorrow." Next he pointed to a clustering of bright blue and purple flowers, shaped like stars.

Hermione spoke before he could, brushing her fingers over them. "Borage. Courage." He nodded, and she continued, touching a clump of delicate pink flowers, enchanted by the magic that left them moving against his skin. "Sweetbriar; wounds to heal." A stunning white flower with a red center and red edges was beside the sweetbriar, and she pressed her fingers into that one. "Amaryllis. Pride."

Draco took over again, moving her finger to a large cluster of mostly white flowers, with stunning yellow-red centres. "Narcissus," he whispered, and she swallowed. "Leaving the past behind." Hermione met his eyes now, but there was one more flower that he hadn't identified, and he pressed her fingers against it, looking back at her, hesitant. Careful. "Moonflower." His voice was hesitant, careful, but he couldn't stop now. "Dreaming of love."

Hermione's heart caught in her throat and she leaned forward, closing the gap between them and pressing her lips against his. She had been so caught up in the flowers, in the weight of what he'd done, that she had barely noticed the mark. Yes, it was there, hideous and terrifying. But his arm didn't look like Bellatrix's anymore, and the beauty and _hope_ of it was so overwhelming that all feelings of panic seemed to have been dashed from her mind.

The kiss grew heavy, and Draco reached a hand to undo her bra. Hermione slid it off her arms and then gasped as he rolled one of her dusky brown nipples between his fingers. She couldn't help but let out a moan when he replaced his fingers with his lips, lathing his tongue over her.

Draco lifted her slightly, so that she was on the table, and in the same motion also began to tug down her jeans. Hermione helped shimmy out of them and they hit the floor with a dull thud, and Draco pressed their bodies together, drawing another moan from her lips at the heated skin on skin contact.

Hermione leaned forward, undoing his pants as well and letting them slide off his hips. She couldn't help herself and she pressed her hand to the front of his crotch, and he groaned against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

"These too." Draco said, and slid his wedding ring off his finger, placing it beside them on the table. He reached over and pulled Hermione's off as well, dropping it next to him. "Don't want to see it on your finger." He admitted, and Hermione nodded in agreement. It felt possessive and consuming and she couldn't help but agree with him. "And this," he murmured, waving his wand over the two of them and muttering the contraceptive charm that Hermione had memorized the day she turned fourteen. The weight of the situation was settling in now, and Hermione's stomach clenched and rolled in anticipation.

* * *

"Fuck." Draco mumbled, afterwards. Hermione nodded underneath him, running her fingers through his sweaty hair. "Was that… alright?" Draco asked, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"More than." Hermione admitted, and then shifted a little so that she could tug his head up from where it rested on her chest to look at him closely. "Incredible." She admitted, and he grinned wolfishly down at her.

Slowly, Draco stood up and stretched his arms over his head and she couldn't help but look down at him again, enjoying the smooth planes of his body and his incredibly pale skin. He pulled his shirt back on then and all of a sudden she remembered that they were in the _dining room at Grimmauld Place_. A place where she had sat with the Order to strategize, learned about the deaths of her friends, and ate dinner with Harry every night.

Quickly, she jumped off the table and began to pull her clothes back on. "Oh Merlin," she mumbled, shaking her head as she pulled her shirt back over her head. "I cannot believe we just… in the _dining room_!"

Draco laughed, slipping his ring back on his finger and picking up hers. "Granger, don't tell me it didn't turn you on. The thought that we could have been caught at any minute." Hermione began to shake her head but he stepped forward, pulling her body against his. "Everyone likes playing with fire."

Draco kissed her again, slow and leisurely, and as he did so he found her hand and slid her ring back on her finger, and Hermione's heart ached for just a moment with the thought that at the end of the day, he was not hers to keep.

* * *

"We have a situation to discuss, you know." Ginny said with a sigh, stretching out further on Harry's bed.

Harry turned a little to look at her, tracing a finger across his girlfriend's naked skin. "Nobody knows about us, Ginny. Or maybe they don't care."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Harry, if someone knew, if they had actual proof, we'd be in Azkaban by now - or at the very least standing in front of the Wizengamot trying to explain that we're just really good _friends_. They were quite clear on the consequences of _cheating_ ," She paused, frowning, and then sighed. "No. I'm talking about Draco and Hermione."

Harry groaned and lifted a hand up to push his mess of hair away from his eyes. "I know. I've been trying not to… But I told Hermione that she needed to be careful. And..."

"She kissed him, Harry. And not just… it was _familiar_. It wasn't a one time thing." Ginny sighed again and traced her eyes over the cracked ceiling of Harry's bedroom. "He really isn't as bad as he used to be, you know."

Harry buried his head under his pillow and let out what sounded like a groan of frustration. "I know," he said, voice muffled thanks to the cotton and down over his head. "We have _dinner parties_. He's… amicable. Not who I would have chosen for her-"

"You don't _get_ to choose for her though, Harry. That's the whole point, that's why we're in this bloody fucking mess in the first place. Someone thought they could choose for _everyone_. I've spent time with him, you know. Sometimes we eat dinner together at the manor. We actually, uh," Ginny paused, and then a grin broke out over her face. "I took him to get a tattoo."

"You did _what_?" Harry asked, pulling the pillow off his head so he could stare at her. "Why on earth would you-"

"He was upset about his mark. He didn't say why, just that he couldn't stand to look at it anymore. That it made him sick, remembering what he'd done." Ginny paused, and then realization dawned on her face. "I think he was worried about Hermione seeing it," she added, and then returned to her story. "Anyways. It reminded me of how Charlie keeps getting tattoos around his scars, to dress them up a little, you know? So I asked Charlie where he went when he was home, and I took Draco."

Harry was shaking his head as he watched her. "You're absolutely mad, you know that, right?"

Ginny only grinned. "The point, Harry, is that I think… well, I think it might not be the worst thing to be happening. We don't really know if it's serious anyways. But, they've both been really excellent, about us."

Sighing again, Harry flopped over onto his back and slid his hand down into one of Ginny's. "I know. We really asked a lot of them both. And _we_ were the ones who kept leaving them together. I guess it was only natural they would get… close."

"Besides," Ginny said, with a smirk of her own. "If they're busy with each other, it leaves more time for us to be busy, if you know what I'm saying."

Harry furrowed his brow at her. "I literally never want to think about _either_ of them having sex. Especially when we're naked."

Ginny laughed and rolled so she was half on top of him, pressing a sweet kiss down to one of his shoulders. "Things are different than they used to be, Harry. It's a different world now."

"I still don't like it." He admitted, kissing the top of her head softly.

"I know." Ginny agreed, with a nod. "But it's not our place to say. I think we need to just… step back, and pay attention. And try not to land _any_ of us in Azkaban."

Harry winced at this, but Ginny was smiling up and him and he nodded in agreement. "You're right." He said, and kissed her forehead now.

"I always am." Ginny sighed, and pulled herself fully on top of Harry now, glad, for now, to be _busy_.

* * *

 **A/N:** Alright! Like I have said since the beginning, this is an _edited_ version of this fic to meet ffnet's guidelines. If you would like to read the full thing, including the missing scene (which is ~1000 words of smut, basically), you should check out this story on archiveofourown, posted under the same name – my username is the same as well.

The quote is, as Draco correctly identifies, a Sylvia Plath quote, from _The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath_.

The next update will be Tuesday! The best way to not miss an update is to follow the story here, or follow me on tumblr. I also have far more of my writing posted on ao3 and on tumblr, if you're interested.


	14. Life Redux

Sometimes, Hermione felt like her entire job was waiting. Waiting for a bill to pass, waiting for the Wizengamot to consider her proposal, waiting for more roadblocks to come up in her path. She hated waiting. It was the worst feeling: knowing that she had done everything she could and had to put her work in someone else's hands and sit around until something happened. The bureaucratic structure of the government was slowly driving her insane.

And so, because she had nothing better to do, Hermione had been working on a side project. It wasn't like anyone even came to check up on her, holed up in a back corner of the Ministry, pushed out of sight and out of mind. She existed simply so that they could say, "Look! We hired a war heroine! And she's working on creature rights, those are important!" and yet they wouldn't _listen_ to her, so she might as well not be there.

Hermione had to be there, so the least she could do with her time was try and fix the problem at hand. The issue was that the Ministry archives were severely lacking on data. She could find the marriage registry for the year the first marriage law was enacted, but nothing about whether or not it actually increased the proportion of magical babies born. She found birth notices, and was able to track a few of the ones of people who became important, and on the whole they seemed to be all right. But that wasn't nearly enough data to prove anything. Hermione even found the record for when the law was repealed, but it was so minimal that it was probably something done with little fanfare. It seemed like only a single generation was really affected, potentially only a few hundred wizards and witches, from what she could tell. But it was infuriating, knowing the information must exist _somewhere_ and yet having no way to access that information.

Once she had reached the point where she was ready to pull her hair out from the sheer frustration of it all, Hermione decided that maybe it would help to have someone to bounce her ideas off of. Before she even clearly thought it all over, she was picking up the research she had gathered and leaving her office. Less than five minutes later, as she stood in front of Draco's door, she finally stopped and wondered if he would be opposed to her imposition and willing to help her. But then again, he'd always been smart and this law affected him just like it affected all of them, so maybe he'd be interested.

Taking a breath, Hermione rapped her knuckles against the door, and she only exhaled when she heard him respond with a gruff "come in."

Hermione pushed the door open and stuck her head in. "Hello." He glanced up at the sound of her voice and Hermione thought she noticed the hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

"Granger," he greeted, and nodded to her as an indication to come in further. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hermione shut the door behind her and dropped down into the cozy armchair in front of his desk. She wondered, briefly, if he had paid for this armchair himself. The Ministry-standard one she had in her office was nowhere near as nice or as comfortable, and she certainly wouldn't put it past him. "I'm having a bit of a slow day, well, week really. I've been looking further into the marriage law and the last time they put it into place. It's been nearly ten months now and we've made no progress on getting it repealed, and soon they're going to expect us all to start announcing pregnancies." Hermione paused and frowned, dropping her research onto his desk. "But I'm stuck. There's simply not enough information about the last time the law was in place. Some marriage records, and a few birth announcements, and then ten years later the law was very quietly repealed and everyone seemed to just, well, move on."

Draco hummed softly and picked up the parchment she had set on his desk. He lounged back in his chair and began to flick through it, scanning over her meticulous notes. "And you think that learning more about its last implementation would give you a good enough reason to fight for it to be overturned now?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course! If we can figure out why it didn't work last time, we can use that as an argument this time. And hopefully have it done more quickly than ten years."

Draco was still reading and then he paused, squinting down at a line on the parchment. "I might be able to help you."

Sighing, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Obviously, that's why I'm here. I needed someone decently intelligent to brainstorm with."

Draco shot her a look that might have been withering, once, but instead caused her to laugh. "Watch it, Granger."

"Didn't realize that was such a sore spot in your ego." She retorted, raising a brow at him, a challenge evident in her stare.

Draco was mostly ignoring her now, pointing at a name on her list and Hermione leaned over his desk to get a better view of it. "Ophiuchus and Columba Malfoy - my…" he paused and counted back on his fingers. "Great great great great great great great grandparents. And the Malfoys keep far better records about our own families than the Ministry would. I'm sure in our library we'll have at least some information on the two of them; at the very least, information about their marriage and their children and their magical abilities."

Hermione perked up instantly. "Really? And you think it would be alright if I took a look at it?"

Draco nodded, and then stopped, frowning. "Of course. It's just, I'm not sure what books of ours would be useful. I'll have to go and look through, pick out the best, and then I can bring them to you. But it's hard to say without looking at them."

Hermione frowned back at him. "Well, couldn't I come-" she stopped then, realizing where Draco had been going, and pulled her shoulders back, forcing bravery into the curve of her spine. "I can handle it."

Draco winced a little. "Granger, the last time you were in my house you had a panic attack. I'm not going to make you-"

"Will you _stop_ thinking you're making me do things?" Hermione snapped. "I am a grown woman and I know what I can and cannot handle. I can't spend the rest of my life being terrified of a house. I will not let that awful woman ruin every part of my life. I. Can. Handle it."

Draco sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. "I've never met a more stubborn person than you." He murmured, but stood up, collecting his papers. "Right, let's go then."

"Now?" Hermione asked, leaning back a little to look up at him. "Don't you have work to do?"

Draco shrugged, looking down at his desk. "Nothing important, really. Let's go, Granger."

* * *

They apparated to the front door of the Manor, and Hermione shoved her hands into her coat pockets, looking up at the house looming above them. She took a deep breath and steeled her shoulders, and then looked over to Draco, who nodded at her. He pulled open the large wood door and led her inside.

When they entered the manor, there was a small pop and all of a sudden a rather short house-elf stood at the front door, twisting her hands together and smiling up at them. "Master Draco!" She said, voice high and trill. "And?"

Hermione blushed slightly, crouching down to be on the level with the elf. "Hermione Granger." She said, offering out her hand. The elf looked up to Draco, who nodded, and then shook Hermione's hand enthusiastically. "What's your name?" Hermione asked, voice gentle.

The elf giggled, just a little. "Bilby. Nice to be meeting you, Ms. Mia-nee."

Hermione sighed but nodded at the elf. "You too, Bilby." She stood up and the elf looked at Draco, who shook his head now, and then she disappeared again. Draco looked at Hermione and smiled, just a little.

"She liked you," he said, and Hermione decided it was better not to question it. She had no measure any more for whether or not a house elf liked her, and at this moment they had better things to do than get into another argument about elf rights.

The library was near the back of the Manor, and Hermione knew they would have to walk past the ballroom to get there. As they neared it, Draco reached out and grabbed one of her hands in his, and she flushed at the gesture, squeezing back to let him know she appreciated it. The ballroom doors were open and as they walked by Hermione had the impulsive decision to look inside, and as she did she gasped and stopped, tugging Draco over to her.

"You…" Hermione swallowed, and shook her head, and looked up to the ceiling. "The chandelier. It's gone?" She glanced over at Draco and he shrugged his shoulders, and she realized he looked just as vulnerable as he did the night she had seen his tattoo.

"It was hideous." Draco said, not making eye contact with her. "Really just didn't fit with the new decor at all. Besides, I certainly have enough money to-"

Hermione cut him off by pressing her lips to his, capturing them in a gentle kiss. She felt him relax against her and she lingered for another moment before she pulled back. Unable to help herself, she kissed his cheek as well. "Thank you, Draco. For doing that for me."

Draco shifted against her and she waited for him to argue, but he didn't. They stood for a minute longer, just leaning against each other, and then Draco stepped back. "Library is this way."

Somehow, without the chandelier the entire house felt more manageable. Hermione really hadn't seen much of the Manor, and when he pushed open the large double doors of the library she gasped audibly. The library was stunning, everything she had ever wanted. It was at least twice the size of Grimmauld Place's library, with rows and rows of books stretching back further than she could see. There was a window out to the grounds at the back, and two incredibly comfortable looking armchairs set up in front of it.

Stepping inside, Hermione couldn't help but run her fingers over the spines of the old books, skimming the titles. She had seen a few of them before. Some in the Hogwarts library, a few she recognized as being from the restricted section. But there were also dozens she had never seen before, books so old they may be the only copies left. Hermione wanted to pull them all off the shelves and disappear, take them somewhere safe and clean and not let anyone touch them without gloves on.

Draco had wandered off down an aisle, and she forgot about him as she gently opened books, fascinated at the contents. Many of them contained ancient spells she was sure no one taught anymore. Spells to be done without wands, in languages that no longer existed.

"Granger," he called, from somewhere in the back of the room. "Come here." Hermione glanced down at the book she was holding, sighed longingly, and slotted it back onto the shelf. She followed the sound of his voice and found him sitting on the ground in front of a bookshelf, holding something in his hands.

"What is it?" She asked, dropping to the ground beside him.

"Columba's diary. I was right. She was matched up to Ophiuchus through the Ministry's program." Draco flipped a page, and then another few after that. "It seems like it was just as vague. But they did get along, at least, from what I can tell. And they had three children, all of whom showed great magical promise. So for them, yes, the spell worked."

Hermione deflated, just a little. It was good, of course, that Columba had found love with her match. But it wasn't really what she needed. "Does it say anything about the matching process?"

Draco hmm-ed and flipped back a few pages, scanning over entries. "It says something about… her mother performing a matchmaking spell. And Ophiuchus being one of the options. This was months before the law came out, though. It sounds like it might have just been a regular…" Draco trailed off, and spun his head around to Hermione. "Of course!"

And before Hermione could ask what 'of course' meant, he was on his feet and gone down another aisle. Shaking her head, Hermione pulled herself up and followed after him. When she caught him, he was holding a small pink book and flipping through it.

"I'm not sure why I didn't think of this. Many of us purebloods, especially from the older families, have marriages arranged for us as children. It hasn't been done in decades, of course, using spells. There are so few of us now and so much potential for inbreeding that usually contracts are worked out wherever possible. But it used to be, before my parents, there were spells you could cast. They'd determine compatibility in a variety of areas. So, Columba and Ophiuchus actually matched in three different ways, but look-" Draco thrust the diary out to Hermione, pointing to a list on the left hand side of the page. "She'd matched in five different ways with one of the Weasley's. Clearly she wasn't that interested in him or they would have been together long before the law came about."

Draco then passed her the pink book. "Here's a few of them. Different families had their own versions, you see, depending on what was important to their belief systems. Because you can match with so many different people, in different ways."

Hermione's eyes were lighting up as she read over the spells. "Draco," she breathed, glancing up at him. "Don't you see? This is exactly what I was looking for. Do you think…" she flipped a page of the book, looking at a few more of the spells. They were each listed under what she assumed they tested for, though most were written in latin and she was not adept at translating on the fly. "Do you think these were the spells the Ministry used?"

Draco shrugged. "Hard to say, really. Like I said, different families had all different qualities they tested for. But it's a start."

"It's more of a start. It's a hundred times more information than I had this morning." Hermione paused, looking up at him. "Would it be alright if I borrowed this book? I can copy it out and then return it to you tomorrow, if you think it would be missed."

Draco held back a laugh. "I can guarantee you, no one's come in here in months. My mother doesn't like the place, too many evil little books. No one will even notice it's gone, it's yours to keep if you'd like it."

Hermione closed the book carefully and tucked it into her bag. "Thank you, Draco, for everything."

The blonde smiled at her, his usual self-assured smile. But his eyes were bright, and his shoulders loose. "Whatever you need, Granger. That's what I'm here for."

* * *

For once, Hermione was glad that it was slow at the office. She spent an entire day just copying out all of the spells onto separate sheets of parchment just in case something were to happen to the book. The day after that, she worked on translating the latin titles to figure out what each of them tested for. They ranged between everything from familial values to sexual preferences to core belief systems. The entire thing was fascinating. By day three, she was starting to break down the spells themselves, look for common elements and things that might be problematic to cast on humans - after all, it was an old book from the Malfoy libraries.

Hermione was so absorbed in her work that she barely registered that someone was knocking on the door. "Come in!" She called, without looking up. She figured it was Harry or Ron, stopping by to see if she was alright since she hadn't been down for her usual tea for days. The door opened, she heard the sounds of someone entering, and then the door shut. She only realized something was different when she heard the sound of the lock clicking into place.

As she glanced up, she found a grinning Draco leaning back against the wood, arms crossed. He looked like a perfect picture of leisure with a smooth smirk on his face as he watched her, and she couldn't help but blush under the intensity of it all.

"Oh," she said, quickly. "Hi. Sorry, I was a little caught up in, well, in all of this." Sure she was now blushing furiously, she set down her quill and leaned back a little in her chair. "Can I help you with something?"

Draco shrugged, his smirk morphing into a wolfish grin as he took three large steps and crossed her office until he was in front of her desk. "I'm not sure, Granger. It depends on you feelings about what is and is not appropriate in the workplace."

Hermione frowned, trying to figure out what he meant. She was still thinking this over when he circled around her desk and grabbed her hands, pulling her out of her chair and catching her lips in a searing kiss. Hermione gasped and pulled back, looking at her door. But Draco had locked it, and pulled down the shade on the window that looked out into the hallway. She turned back to look at him and he kissed her again, and she could taste firewhiskey just faintly on his tongue but that taste was such a part of him now it almost didn't bother her.

"Draco," she murmured, pulling back. "Did you just come down here to kiss me?"

Draco laughed at this and picked her up, sitting her down on her desk. "No," he mumbled, kissing along her jaw and then down her neck. "Can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop thinking about how you taste…" He nipped at the soft skin on her neck and Hermione gasped, looking back over her shoulder again at the door.

"Granger," he said, voice low and husky again. "Tell me you want me to stop and I'll leave right now." Hermione swallowed, looking back at him. "Or, don't, and let me make you feel good." His eyes met hers and they looked at each other, and Hermione hesitated. But she only hesitated for a moment. Normally she would be very much against anything like this but… It had been a few days, and there was something about Draco that pressed at the part of her that wanted to follow the rules. Something about him that drove her to do things she otherwise would never consider. Finally, Hermione nodded, and Draco grinned triumphantly, sliding his hands down her sides and undoing her robes quickly. He slid a hand up under her shirt, immediately cupping one of her breasts and she gasped as he pinched her nipple and rolled it in his fingers. His other hand was pushing her skirt up, bunching it around her waist, and trailing his fingers over the front of her knickers.

Hermione was very quickly forgetting that they were in her office and she leaned back on her hands, letting her eyes fall closed. Draco dropped down to sit in her chair and pushed her legs further apart. He hooked his long fingers in her underwear and pulled them off, carefully slipping them into his pocket.

Pulling away from her, Draco licked his lips and wiped his hands off on his robes, standing up out of the chair. Hermione was still trembling a little bit, only half aware that she must look like something else, with her own skin flushed, her skirt bunched up around her waist, and her shirt riding halfway up her stomach. Draco caught her cheeks in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then again to her lips. "This was great fun." He mumbled, and she grinned against him.

"Do you want, um…" Hermione gestured a hand at his crotch and Draco glanced at his watch and then shook his head.

"No." He paused, and then smirked a little. "I'll take a rain check on that one."

Draco stepped back from her then and smoothed out his hair, adjusting the deep green tie around his neck. "Have a good rest of your afternoon, Granger."

And then he was gone. It was only when Hermione pulled herself off the desk and rearranged her skirt and robes did she realize that her underwear were gone. Unfortunately, she couldn't quite seem to find it in herself to care.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hope you all enjoyed todays chapter! Finally - some plot! I cut out around 400 words there when the scene crosses into "explicit" territory. To find that scene if you're interested, this story is also being posted on archive of our own, under the same name & same username!


	15. Forgiveness (can you imagine?)

It wasn't like Hermione was _used_ to seeing Draco every day at work. But, for the past nearly two weeks, she had seen him every day. Sometimes she stopped by his office on her way for her daily tea, and he'd been back to her office at least twice since that first time. It was far more secluded than his was, and sometimes they both needed a few minutes in the middle of their long rather boring days to just enjoy each other's company.

The first day that she didn't see him, she figured it was nothing big. Perhaps he was out on a mission or an assignment. She asked Harry about it that night and he'd shrugged and said that actually, Draco hadn't been in that day. But he was probably fine, everybody misses a day of work here and there.

By day two, she was a little more worried. There was still no sign of Draco. Harry had no idea, and he checked into it and said that no, Draco definitely hadn't been put on an assignment. For all intents and purposes, he should be in the office. Hermione checked three times. He wasn't.

On day three, she was anxious - too often someone not showing up when they were supposed to had meant that something was horribly wrong, and Hermione had never been able to fully turn off that part of her brain. From everything she knew about Draco, this wasn't like him at all. Hermione spent the day trying to work on the spells she was still testing out and eventually she got so stressed that she wrote him a letter and walked up to the Ministry owlery to send it off immediately. She told herself that she couldn't worry, that he would be fine. He lived with his mother, after all. And Ginny, though the woman herself had admitted that sometimes she didn't see Draco for weeks at a time. The house was too big. Besides, she had been travelling for work lately and Hermione wasn't even sure she was home this week.

At the end of the day, she still hadn't heard. Hermione was doing the best she could to tamp down her anxiety, but she kept thinking of him sitting in his office and taking shots from a flask. Her gut was screaming that something was wrong. She hadn't let herself admit it yet - that he drank too much and that it was an issue - but the more she thought about it, stewing in her office, the more she worried.

When Hermione landed on his front doorstep, she was a mess of nerves. She forced herself to take three deep breaths before she knocked on the door, and then she waited, hoping to God he would be standing on the other side.

It was Bilby. "Hi Bilby," Hermione said, trying not to sound too dejected. "I was just wondering if, um, if you've seen Draco lately? He hasn't been at work and I'm just a little worried about him."

Bilby thought about this for a moment, tapping her foot and tugging at her ear as she thought. "Bilby has not seen Master Draco. He does not like Bilby being in his rooms… But, not unusual for Bilby not to see him!"

Hermione nodded. She thought for a minute that maybe she should leave, but she'd come all this way and something in her was pushing her; she needed to _see_ him to make sure everything was alright. "Bilby? Do you think you'd be able to show me where his room is?"

Bilby paused for only a minute but then nodded, opening the door to let Hermione inside the house.

* * *

It was a long walk through the winding Manor to Draco's bedroom. When the reached the door, Bilby stopped abruptly. "Bilby has to go back to dinner now, Miss Mia-nee. You call for Bilby if you need?" Hermione nodded to the elf and then, when she had gone, knocked on the door.

No answer.

Hermione stood there for a minute, shifting nervously from one foot to another, and then knocked again. When there was still no answer, she took a deep breath. This felt like an incredible invasion of privacy. After all, what were they really to each other? Two people who were only barely friends who happened to have sex in inappropriate places, usually while their spouses were having sex with each other in only slightly more appropriate locations.

But...

Steeling herself, Hermione reached out and tried the handle. It opened easily and she pushed the door open, stepping inside the dark and cool room. She was struck almost instantly by two things. The first was that it didn't look like what she had been imagining. It was light and airy, with large windows that looked over the grounds. The sheets on the bed were white, as were the couches by the fireplace and the curtains over the windows. The bed was huge, probably a king sized, and the whole room felt clean but lived in, modern but comfortable.

The second thing that hit her was the smell. It smelt like there was an entire firewhiskey brewery hiding behind the couch, and she couldn't help but cough as it hit her.

Stepping further into the room, Hermione nearly slipped in a puddle. On closer inspection, she realized it was a puddle of Ogden's, spilling from a bottle near the bed, which better explained the smell. Unfortunately, what she didn't see was Draco.

Taking a deep breath, she moved further into the room. "Draco?" She called, softly, looking around. "Draco?!" She tried again, a little louder. And then she heard a noise that sounded like a groan from the back of the room and followed it. She found her way to a half open door and when she pushed it open Hermione realized she was in a bathroom. A stunning one. Huge, with marble floors and a massive tub and even bigger shower. And there, spread out face down on the floor near the toilet, was Draco.

Gasping, Hermione rushed over to him and dropped to her knees next to him. "Draco?" She murmured, reaching out and shaking at him, gently. "Draco, are you alright?" She whispered, frantically now. When he groaned, just a little, in response, she let out a shaky breath. He wasn't dead. Thank god. "Draco, what's happened?" She asked again, and slowly rolled him onto his side, leaning closer to get a good look at him.

Draco turned his head up towards her. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy and his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He blinked once and managed a weak smile up at her, but it didn't reach his eyes and it made him look worse rather than better. Hermione pressed her hand to his forehead and swallowed hard. He was burning up under her hand, his face and hair damp with sweat. "Draco, can you sit up?" She coaxed, and started to lift him upwards.

He protested at this, groaning and shutting his eyes. "Whole room's…spinnin'…" His speech was slurred and his voice sounded thick and Hermione thought back to the bottle of Ogden's spilled over the floor. She wondered how long it had been since he last took a drink, and how much he had drunk before that. Briefly, she wondered if she should floo him immediately to St. Mungo's, but she had a feeling that Draco would not be entirely pleased to wake up there. Besides, she knew some basic healing spells. If she could balance out his fever and keep him away from the rest of the alcohol…

Shaking her head, Hermione quickly threw herself back into battle mode. She lowered him gently back down to the floor and moved quickly to the tub, turning the taps on and waiting until the water felt suitably lukewarm. She didn't want to shock his system with too cold a bath, but she also needed to do _something_ and cooling charms just weren't nearly as effective as the old fashioned methods. Very gently, she levitated Draco but only enough to move him slowly over towards the tub. Lifting him up off the floor only reinforced the fact that he was shaking slightly, and she wondered what she'd gotten herself into.

As she lowered him into the tub, he looked back up at her again, barely even aware of where he was, and Hermione managed a weak smile. "You'll feel better soon," she whispered, and he seemed to find some comfort in her words.

It took nearly an hour before she felt that he was no longer dangerously overheated. Hermione levitated him from the bath and into the bedroom, laying him down on the bed. She cleaned up the spilled firewhiskey first, and then cast a drying charm over his clothes. Drying charms weren't nearly as effective when you were wearing said clothes, but the thought of trying to undress him was daunting.

Climbing onto the bed beside him, Hermione propped herself up against the headboard and pulled his trembling body closer, drawing his head into her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes, trying not to cry with the weight of it all, and hoping he would wake up soon.

* * *

It must have been hours later when Hermione woke up with an uncomfortable crick in her neck. She blinked, trying to figure out where she was. The room was dark now, but it was obviously not _her_ room. Glancing around, it all suddenly came back to her and she sat up further, feeling around on the bed for Draco.

He wasn't there.

Swallowing her panic down, Hermione took a deep breath and flicked her wand, lighting up the room with her _lumos_ and glancing around. No sign. Her eyes landed on the bathroom door and she realized that it was ajar, just a little, and there was a soft light spilling from the edges.

Hermione kept her footsteps light as she moved to the bathroom and pushed the door open slowly so that it wouldn't creak. Draco was on the floor again, curled up around himself next to the toilet and shaking. Hermione sighed and moved over to him, sitting down beside him again, running a hand through his hair.

"Draco?" She murmured, hoping he was more coherent now.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open and looked up at her, scanning her face. "Didn't realize you were really…" He trailed off, wincing. "You are really… here?"

Hermione offered him a small smile. "Yes. I'm here. How are you feeling?"

Draco shook his head in response. "Ill." He murmured, pausing for a second. "Must… have the stomach flu."

Reaching over, she tugged at his hand and wrapped her fingers around it, trying to reassure him that it was alright, that she was there. "When was the last drink?" She asked, and he managed to throw some of his usual malice into his gaze as he frowned up at her.

"Don't know… what you're talking about."

Hermione sighed and rubbed at her forehead with the heel of her hand. "How are you so infuriating even when you're in withdrawal?" She mumbled, but squeezed his hand anyways. "You had a hell of a fever when I found you, Malfoy, and there was an entire bottle of Ogden's soaking into the probably very expensive wood floor in your bedroom."

Draco, stubbornly, did not respond. Instead, he tightened his grip on her hand as well.

"I'm guessing something happened and you were drinking more than you usually do. And then you spilled that bottle and didn't have any more and by the time I found you, well..."

"Dammit, Granger, could you keep your nose out of everyone else's business? I was doing just fine before I met you."

Hermione flinched, just a little, at his words. The tone of his voice was too empty though, for it to be what he was really thinking. "Are you sure about that?"

"If you want to… to make yourself useful, you can go buy me some more firewhiskey."

"Look." Hermione paused, wondering if this was a good idea. "You're a grown man, and you can do whatever you want to do. If you want to go out and buy more alcohol and drink until you're dead… I can't stop that." She frowned, hoping to god this would work. "But, I'd rather you weren't dead. And if you want, I'll stay with you while you get over the worst of this. And… and I'll help you, if you want to quit."

Draco let out a sigh that trembled through his whole body and he looked up at her, watching her closely. "I've already told you, Granger… I'm not worth saving."

"I don't think you really get to decide that, _Malfoy_."

Draco frowned at her and pushed himself up off the ground, leaning heavily on his arm to not fall over again. "Do you want to know what I did, Granger? Not just what I saw, but the people who I hurt? How many lives I-"

"Stop!" Hermione cut him off, reaching a hand out to press on his chest. "I've told you. I don't want to know. I… I forgive you."

"You shouldn't. I'm worthless. All of you would be better off if I weren't here anymore. Might as well let me drink myself to death in peace."

Hermione lifted her hand up to cup his cheek, moving a little closer to him on the cold tile floor. "I would not be better off."

Draco seemed to consider this, closing his eyes and leaning into her hand, just a little. "I don't deserve you." He mumbled, and shook his head. "I would…" His sentence trailed off and he sighed. "Fine. I'm willing to try. I can't promise you anything."

"I know." Hermione smiled at him, and kissed his forehead. "No one can ever promise anyone anything, not really."

* * *

The first three days were the worst. Hermione managed to write in and use up a few of her sick days, and she pulled in one of her (many) favours with Harry to ensure Draco would not be missed at work for a few days. ("Dragon pox is, after all, very contagious. Don't need the Aurors catching that." Harry had agreed with a wink through the firecall at her. "Nasty disease, really. Much safer for you to be in quarantine at the Manor than here, getting _me_ sick.")

Draco spent most of the first day in the bathroom, trying not to vomit and not moving much because the room was spinning. That night when he finally fell asleep, Hermione had Bilby trash the rest of the alcohol in the house.

On day two, Draco started to get anxious. He fidgeted and tugged at his hair and asked her if he was going to die. He also got mean; even more so when he realized that there wasn't even a nice bottle of wine left in the Manor. But even his meanness now, Hermione realized, held none of the malice she was used to. Instead, it seemed like he was a child going through the motions of a temper tantrum. All bark and no bite, and even most of the bark was diminished by the fact that he was still shaking slightly and sweating profusely.

The third day was when things started to turn around, other than the fact that now he wasn't sleeping. When she'd finally decided she had to go to bed, she'd tossed him the few books that she'd had in her purse and curled up on the couch to get some rest.

On the morning of the fourth day, Hermione woke up curled into a warm body. She kept her eyes closed for a minute, relishing in the feeling of having someone near, especially someone who smelt so good. Then she realized where she was and opened her eyes, looking around.

"Why am I in your bed?"

Draco looked down at her. He was propped up on the headboard holding a book, which he set down beside him when he realized she was awake. "You looked uncomfortable on the couch."

Hermione frowned, rubbing her eyes. "You actually look… pretty good today."

Draco snorted at her and smoothed a hand over her hair. "Showered." He said, simply.

"Right." Hermione agreed, with a nod. "Did you sleep at all last night?" He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug and she sighed. "Well. You win some and you lose some, I suppose."

They sat together quietly for a few minutes, and Hermione was thinking about mentioning that she might go home for a bit. He did really seem to be doing much better. He didn't look especially stressed, and his skin had returned to its usual pallor, rather than the ghost-like colouring of the past few days. His hand wasn't shaking at all as it brushed atop her curls. She wracked back through her brain trying to think of what she knew about withdrawal symptoms but came up rather blank. If all that he was left with now was a bit of trouble falling asleep and the craving to have a drink, it seemed like they'd at least accomplished something.

Suddenly, Draco stilled his hand on her hair, and she could feel him inhale deeply. "My father died." He said, all at once, and she sat up so quickly she nearly knocked into him.

"What?!"

Draco looked down at his lap, where her head had been, and looked at his nails as if he were inspecting them for chips. "Yes. In Azkaban. He's been sick for a few months now, but it's not as if they have medical care there."

Hermione frowned, and he looked directly at her, as if he was daring her to speak.

"That's why I missed those few days of work. It was Sunday. He died on Sunday and I just… I don't fucking _care_ about him, Granger. But..." Draco was clenching his hand into a fist and Hermione covered it with her own hand.

"He was still your father," she said.

"Fuck," Draco mumbled. "He's the reason I am who I am, and I do not mean that in a positive way. But I can't… he's still _dead_. And I figured he would want to be toasted, with the good whisky. When I ran out of good whisky I drank the mediocre stuff. Then I tripped over the last bottle of the shit whisky."

"And then I found you." Hermione finished, and he nodded once.

"I wasn't worth your time." He mumbled, and Hermione sighed, reaching out to lift his chin so that she could look at him.

"I don't know how many more ways to tell you that I don't actually _care_ what you think. Because I think you were. I think you _are_. ' _Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars_.'"

The corners of Draco's lips briefly quirked up into a small smile, before he ducked his head. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, and a few moments passed as he seemed to collect himself. Hermione's fingers gently brushed back and forth against his cheekbone, glad he'd finally shaved off the stubble that had accumulated over the past few days. Finally, Draco gruffly cleared his throat and raised his head. He caught Hermione's eyes for the briefest second, then looked towards the window, his eyes shining.

"I'm not sure I know that one," he said, clearing his throat once more.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, but Hermione smiled all the same.

"Don't worry," she said, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw and lowering her head back to his chest. "I'll teach you."

* * *

 **A/N:** Whoosh, that was a heavy one. I would also just like to make it clear that alcoholism is a very serious disease and I did my best in this chapter to not make light of it, but I'm sorry in advance if I've offended anyone with my portrayal. If you've been paying attention, you probably noticed hints of it throughout the entire story so far. I would also like to make it clear that recovering from alcoholism is not an easy happy fun process - I tried to capture the difficulties of it while not making this chapter totally horrible. From my understanding, the first three days are typically the worst, but this is something Draco is going to spend his entire life dealing with and I think it's just important to say that now. As always, I applied a little artistic license, but I still want these characters struggles to feel real and legitimate, and I hope I've done an alright job there!

Thanks as always to my beautiful betas, nymphadoraholtzmann & theskiddlyboop!

The quote this week is by Khalil Gibran. I first saw it in Shayalonnie's BRILLIANT The Debt of Time and fell deeply in love with it. I didn't so much mean to use it here, but I also couldn't really stop myself.

This chapter was not edited at all, but to make sure you don't miss any scenes you should head over to ao3 where it's posted under the same name & username as here!


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